The Breaking Point
by aerstwhyle
Summary: In a world posioned by war and torn by the violence of man, Nami fights to survive amongst the ranks of the Revolutionary Army. When she begins to have startlingly vivid dreams of faces she can't name, she comes to realize that distinguishing fact from fiction in her fractured mind is harder than she thinks...and that it's all too easy to forget what you don't want to remember.
1. one, a lovely picture

_**HELLO READERS! So, I'm still pretty new to writing and truthfully, this thing here's my baby. I slaved over this, and still feel like something's not quite right with it, but I wanted to share and(hopefully) get some feedback and criticism. It's set in the CANON world, but is an AU, if that makes any sense. I'm going to try to not tell you directly what's happening and what happened yet, because I wanted the mood of this to be very...mysterious? I'm pretty sure the smarty-pants out there will get what's going on pretty early, but until then, please bear with the general vagueness. Nami is not in a stable mindset as of now, and the title doesn't imply stability. Cookies for any theories anyone comes up with! And yes, before I am attacked, I know that Nami does not use swords, nor does she own one currently. Without further ado, enjoy my magnum opus, THE BREAKING POINT.**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

The stain of blood washes away as easily as the soap she lathers on her skin, but the scent, the smell, will not leave. She can smell it—the blood. Under her fingernails, between the creases of her knuckles and in the thick curtain of her hair. It's there. It will not wash away. She wonders if others can see it, if they can see what she is, what she has done. She knows that he can. She can see it in him, every time she looks into his eyes. His fear, his distrust. It's there, and like the scent of blood, she doesn't know how to make it go away.

* * *

 _ **o**_ **ne |** _ **a lovely picture**_

She can't breathe.

She's making quite the image, she's sure, with the way she's clawing at her chest and trying but failing to stand from the snow. The snow is red where she touches it, the stain of her bloody hands tainting the powder soft, damnably wretched white. She knows that if she were to turn her head exactly forty-five degrees to the left, the two men who'd jumped her would be tainting the snow as well. The one with the blond hair should be still clutching a stone in his left hand—she'd broken the right— as it was the weapon he'd used to slam and crush her ribs when he'd pinned her to the ice ground under the weight of his knees. The other, the one with the brown hair—the one she'd disemboweled with one swipe of her knife—is still breathing, she can hear his gasping breaths, albeit barely. She's not quite sure whether it is her who cannot hear clear enough, or him who cannot breathe strong enough.

She should do something about that.

It's dangerous to leave the enemy alive and so close.

Her fingers find purchase in a magically appearing tree, bark biting under her fingernails as she pitifully tries to scrabble up the trunk. She has a strangely far away thought laced with worry at how it doesn't hurt. She knows it should, but the man with the brown hair forty-five degrees to her left moans and she forgets her train of far away thought. The jagged moan is pitiful. Just like her. He, however, can breathe. The lucky bastard.

She should call for help. The others shouldn't be too far from her in the woods, if she can get a coherent word out, then they should come running to aid her. They owe her at least that much. She is the one who got them this far in the first place. So, logically, if she called for help, someone should come for her.

But she can't _breathe_.

"He—" she begins, but is stopped by a hacking cough that is alarmingly painful. Blood chokes her, and she has to force herself to cough more in attempt to clear her throat to no avail, only more blood comes. It's so hot, it burns as it leaks from her nose and splatters across her hands, her face, the tree. Tears come to the edges of her eyes, further blurring her vision.

 _Calm down._

The thigh of her weatherproof pants feel suddenly sticky, and she realizes that her stomach hurts just faintly. She's cut herself in her flailing.

 _You're panicking._

Her vision is tunneling. The burning in her chest is unbearable now, and no matter how much she tears at her neck, _she cannot breathe_. Black curls in at the edges of her vision and she wearily blinks it away, only to have it return more aggressively and rapidly each time. She can't feel her fingers. She can't feel her toes. The snow is no longer cold.

She's dying.

She's going to die. Strangely, the thought isn't as terrifying as she thought it would be. It actually excites her. Pity, though, all her treasure and finery would be left oh, so lonely. But wait—would the others know how to reach her safe house? Would they know to leave her things in the right hands? She should have been prepared.

Just as she's lamenting the fact that she hadn't yet written a will, there's a flash of blue-black fur, white teeth and tanned skin filling her tunneled vision. Fingers with death written across the knuckles reach out, and she opens her mouth to reprimand him for touching her _again_ , but before she can form the words—not that she could, even if she wanted too—she's already falling into the darkness.

 _Good_ , she thinks as the world goes dark, _maybe he'll learn to not be such an ass after I'm dead, and finally_ , she smiles to herself, _finally,_ _I can get some rest._

‡

‡

Nami's bandaged fingers twitch against the wrappings around her abdomen.

It itches.

Badly.

The medication Law forced her to take with a stern glare and no nonsense scowl has dulled the pain, but the itching is steadfast. She's tempted to tear the gauze and whatnot away and scratch wildly at the skin around her newly, neatly stitched scars underneath, but Law wouldn't take too kindly to that. Tie her to the bed and strip her naked, he would, if she did as she pleased. The bastard would smile while doing it too.

She bets he's smiling now. She can hear him humming in that awfully off tune way of his through the walls. If the itching doesn't drive her insane first, then his voice will. She's half tempted to cut his tongue out when he returns to check her wounds so that he may never make that wretched noise ever again, but then, she remembers, Law is her friend.

Friends don't hurt each other.

Friends help. Not hurt.

Nami decides then that she will leave Law and his terrible humming be.

The room which 'Doctor' Law has imprisoned her in has no windows, no decoration, no stimulation. There is one door, one bed, a metal bolted table, chair and four walls, all of which, is stark white and smelling of sterile antiseptic. The floor is concrete. If she were to walk on it, she's sure blood would seep out of it from the warmth of her feet with the way it smells of steeped blood. The room is naked, and likewise, she feels exposed in it and in her pale blue shift. The absence of the familiar weight of her knife and swords has her anxious even more so. If she had just one weapon, she wouldn't be so unnerved, but Law is always careful to never leave his medical tools and equipment in the room with her. Not that she would hurt him with it.

Law is her friend, and friends help, not hurt.

…She wants her swords.

The knob of the white door turns with a dull creak, and Nami's eyes dart to it. Law's figure is so large that the doorway doesn't fit it. Or maybe, the doorway is so small that his figure doesn't fit. Either way, Law cannot enter without turning to the side.

The smell of carrots and chicken makes Nami's mouth water. She wants so badly to eat an entire roast duck and even begged Law the other day for just a bite of meat, but Law was and is the stubborn caretaker. No solids, yet, he'd said. Yet. Maybe she will try again today. The shine in his slate eyes and slight upward curve of his mouth tells her that he is in a good mood. Her eyes fall from his stare to the ground and his slipper clad feet as they shuffle over to her bedside.

They're too dirty for Nami's comfort.

That's right. Nami didn't do the laundry yet. Of course they're dirty.

She should do something about that.

"…listening? Nami? Nami." Laws sighs like she's a lost cause. His lips press into a firm line and his eyes are cold when Nami peeks up at him through her lashes.

"Did you hear me?" he asks from his seat on the metal chair. The bowl of soup he brought steams invitingly beside his elbow on the tabletop. Her eyes fall back down.

"They're dirty," she says when Law reaches over to smooth the heavy down blanket over her lap. He pauses and pulls back—just barely—frowning as he raises his tattooed hands to inspect them.

"I—" he starts, but she is quick to cut him off.

"They're dirty," she repeats, "Your slippers."

He sighs.

She blinks.

A heartbeat then, "If I take them off, will that make you happy?"

She mulls it over slowly with a fast deepening frown. "…No."

"Na _mi_ —"

"Where are we, Law?" Nami picks at a loose thread in the blanket. The seemingly menial action causes her fingers to throb anew, she whimpers when a particularly harsh tug sends a sharp pain up her hands. Law is quick to scold her.

"Stop that," he reprimands with a scowl. Nami complies, but stares up at him until he answers. "We're on board the Polar Tang."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

The Polar Tang. Law's ship. Nami's new home. Safe. Yellow. Bepo.

Nami lets the relief trickle over her and smiles to herself.

Bepo must be worried.

"Look, Nami—"

"Will you feed me today?" she asks, her eyes on the cooling soup.

He backtracks and turns to stare at the soup before picking up the spoon. He even makes sure to blow on it before pushing it into her mouth, something he never cared to do before. How kind of him. Maybe her almost dying spurred him to have more tact. When the bowl is empty and Law has almost forgotten his annoyance at her, Nami sits passively when he wipes the renegade drops from her chin with his fingers. His touch burns her. She should reprimand him. He never seems to remember her limits.

But not today.

She wants her swords.

"Law?" her voice is soft and small. He stops to look down at her with cold, dark eyes that are painfully familiar. Her lip quivers, and the coldness leaves. "Can I have my swords?"

Those eyes narrow and the coldness returns.

"Why?" the one-word question is a challenge, a test, and his tone tells all. He seems to have forgotten that if she wanted to, she would have killed him already. Sleeping targets are the easiest and the number of times Law has slept beside her exceeds the amount he believes.

"I miss them," she says easily. And it is the truth. She misses the weight of them against her shoulders. The smell of steel. When he doesn't answer right away, she adds, "It'll make me happy."

His shoulders slump and he sighs.

He does that a lot lately.

Sighs.

Nami almost wants to make him stop doing it.

It annoys her.

Maybe she should take his tongue.

"Okay," he says with a nod, as though he is convincing himself, and Nami is so relieved that she decides once more to spare his tongue, "Alright."

Nami smiles.

It is enough and Law's good mood returns. He hums as he strides easily out of the room with the tray and empty soup bowl. Nami's eyebrow ticks.

 _His damned humming_.

Law is lucky he is her friend. She _really_ wants to cut his tongue out of his mouth.

As the too small door locks behind his too large figure, Nami repeats quietly to herself, "Law is my friend. Friends help, not hurt."

Law hums for the next two hours, and Nami hates every second of it.

When his blasted humming stops, Nami lets her eyes slip closed, and for the first time in months, she sleeps.

‡

‡

Citrus, salt, sweat and wet grass. If she were to try a bit harder, she would catch the fleeting scent of freshly baked bread and faint freesia perfume. The steady clank of metal on metal, the thud of a hammer head beating in a nail and a jolly whistle is comforting, and somewhere a little farther, Nami can hear muffled laughter coupled with heavy footsteps. A violin plays a smooth tune, pauses, then hearty beat, stops, then is replaced with the gentle strumming of a guitar. The music brings her calm, and just to her right, is a random pattern of pages being turned, paper sliding on paper.

Her skin is warm from the sun, and her hair sways with the ocean breeze from where she has it thrown over the head of her reclined lawn chair. Though her eyes are closed, she knows that the sky is pristinely blue, and that the gentle rocking is from the ocean's water lapping at the sides of the ship—whose ship?—her ship—someone's ship—though not Law's ship.

 _Home_ , she thinks immediately, _this is home_.

 _But why_ …?

A special kind of snicker sounds just above her. Nami knows this laugh, knows it by heart, but cannot remember to whom it belongs, just that it is special and wonderful and deserves to be protected. The laugh is soft, and the too loud footsteps that are trying too hard to be quiet tells her all she needs to know.

Her lips quirk, and she thinks she'll let him—though she does not quite know who he is—have his fun and not open her eyes. She'll let him think he's fooled her. Her amusement quickly fades, however, when a cold and wet body lands upon her own, skin to skin, cheek to cheek, lanky arms and legs wrapping around her neck and waist as she falls off her chair and onto soft grass with an outraged shriek. Her eyes shoot open, and all she sees is a wide, wide grin—that is all sorts of beautiful, but for reasons she does not know—and dark, dark eyes that are as bright as the sun shining down on them both.

There's laughter, from two distinct voices, one from the man holding her tight, a happy sort of rasp, and the other, a gentle tinkering giggle from a woman a little ways away.

She's screaming at him, her arms twisting to escape his vice grip so that she might try to land a hit on him, but he's laughing and laughing and the sound is so wonderful that Nami gives up, shuts her eyes against the bright sun, and laughs with him.

Further away, there is the whining call of, "Nami-swan~", the scolding shout of, "Idiot! Don't track water all over the stairs! I almost died!", and the slightly worried comment of, "That was dangerous, you can't swim."

And Nami just laughs against the cold cheek rubbing affectionately against her own.

For the first time in a long time, she is stupidly, foolishly, happy.

Her eyes open again, but the sun is gone. She has a moment of panic before she recognizes the dark ceiling and sterile smell of the room which Law has put her in.

She is awake.

That lovely picture was a dream.

…A dream, how strange…

Nami hasn't dreamt since—

A movement to her left brings Nami's attention to Law's hunched form from where he sits in the metal chair, watching her. There is a candle on the tabletop, weakly lighting the room, more than enough to see his face, but not enough for her to see the words scrawled across the pages of the notebook Law rests his hand on. He looks as though he is ready to jump, a predator poised over his prey. There is no question as to who is his prey, and Nami flinches instinctively under the weight of his gaze. When he speaks, his expression is cold, calculating, _waiting_.

"You're crying," he says, his eyes amber in the flickering candlelight. They look almost gold, and so familiar that Nami's lip quivers once more. They lose their edge, and he almost looks defeated. His voice soft and gentle, using _that_ tone, the one he uses when he wants something from her, he asks her, "What's wrong, Nami-ya?"

"I—" she begins, but stops because she doesn't know what to tell him.

"I don't know."

And it is not a lie.

She doesn't know why she is sad, she doesn't know why she was so happy in her dream, doesn't who they were and why they were there with her. She does not know, and that truth, makes her all the more sad.

"I was remembering."

For some reason, that seems like the right thing to say.

She turns to her side, and smiles.

It is enough. He seems satisfied with her answer and nods to himself. His pen dances in his hand across the page, but Nami is too far away to see what he has written.

"Good," he says absently, "That's good."

Law closes his book and leans across the chasm between them to press his lips to the skin between her eyes. She frowns a bit at the sudden affection. It's unlike him.

"Let me get you ready for bed." His breath his hot on her skin and smells faintly like sake and ale. The smell makes her melt, for a reason she cannot name, other than what she might call… nostalgia…? Is it?

He stands, and takes his notebook with him, giving Nami a few moments to wonder why the room and the hallway beyond the door is so still, so quiet.

It's not until after Law's washed her face, feet and hands with startling cold water and tucked her into bed with a whisper of his lips on hers that Nami realizes. It sends a sharp shot of panic through her veins, chilling her blood even though the blanket is suffocatingly warm. Law doesn't seem to notice her sudden discomfort, because he cleans up his tools quickly— _humming_ —and leaves the room with an easy smile back at her. As the door shuts behind him, it locks, and with the drop of the bolt, her heart goes with it into the depths of her stomach. There is no noise. There are no voices, no laughter, no obnoxious clinking and clanking of glass on beer bottles. The room is completely still, no rocking, no gentle swaying. Most jarring of all, is the absence of the constant, steady pulse of the submarine's heart she's come to know so well.

She is not on the ship.

* * *

 _ **Reviews, follows, and anything from the readers are loved! Thank you for reading!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE**_ **; I hate set-up chapters.**


	2. two, white prison

_**HELLO READERS!**_

 _ **Thank you so much for all your support last chapter! I sent PMs to everyone who reviewed, except for the guests, but the guests are still very much important. Thank you to Awesome Guest and my other two guest readers who reviewed last chapter! I really appreciate everyone taking time to leave me a little something. Also, I'm really glad that I was able to make everyone so curious! Too bad there's not a whole lot going on in this chapter, but I hope it can answer some of your questions and at the same time, give you more. We're almost through with the set-ups, I promise! Peeks to the plot is coming very soon! Ok, I'll stop now my rambling and let you read now. Enjoy, chapter two of THE BREAKING POINT.**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

While traveling with the Heart Pirates towards an unknown location, Nami is ambushed and fatally wounded by enemy attackers. The captain of the Heart Pirates, Trafalgar Law finds her and nurses her back to health. He eventually tells Nami that she is on board the Polar Tang, his own submarine. After a strangely vivid dream and observing Law's odd behavior, Nami realizes that she is in fact, not on board a ship at all, as no ship is as still or quiet as the room Law has her locked in.

* * *

 _ **t**_ **wo** _ **| white prison**_

 _One Year Prior…_

"Your maps sure are nice, Miss Nami."

Nami can't help but smile at the bear sitting across from her.

Should she tell him she has no idea what she's doing? That her hands move on their own? No, she shouldn't. He would worry, and when Bepo worries, he tells Law and when Law is told, Nami is put under the dark doctor's anger.

"Mine look nothing like yours." He pushes his sheet away from himself and slumps in his seat, already beginning to brood.

A cursory look over to his side of the table reveals his statement to be true, but Nami's trained eyes can tell that though his map is clumsier and contains less aesthetically appealing details, everything important is marked precisely. His map is accurate, and that is what matters most. She tells him so, but he is ever the hard one to pull from his self destructive states.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," she chastises him with a wag of her manicured finger, "Practice makes perfect."

Someone told her that once. She's not sure if it's true.

"Sorry…" he mumbles behind his collar.

"Don't apologize either, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Sorry…" he repeats, still behind his collar.

Nami sighs.

Sometimes the guy is too hard on himself. She reaches over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but the sound of an approaching person stops her.

A man. A man is coming towards the room.

She whips her head to the open doorway, her body tensing and slowly rising out of her seat, one hand sliding to the knife strapped to her thigh so that when—

Oh.

It's just him.

She lets herself relax when she sees Law's figure enter. Law doesn't mean her any harm. She falls back into her seat.

"Nami," he says, bringing her attention back to him. His eyes almost immediately slip down to her ample cleavage bursting from the skintight jumpsuit she was given. The action does not go unnoticed by her or the other occupant in the room.

"My face is a little higher, in case you're curious, Law," Nami says with a condescending snort as she angles her body away. The feel of a man's leer on her is sickeningly familiar and Nami doesn't like it. Not one bit. Law doesn't bother to apologize; he simply raises his gaze.

Maybe she should change her wardrobe.

Bepo stands from his chair and nervously sidesteps towards the doorway.

"I'll just leave you here with the captain, see you at dinner Miss Nami. Bye Captain!" He smiles, or at least tries to before turning tail and racing to the doorway.

"Wait, Bepo—!"

He is already gone and down the hall. Nami huffs a bit at having been ignored by her favorite bear, but recollects herself when Law slides easily into the chair Bepo was just occupying moments ago.

He tosses an object at her, and it lands with dull thud on the tabletop beside her newly inked map.

A book?

"What's this book about?" she asks as she lifts it into her hands. It's heavy for such a small thing.

"Can't you tell by the cover?" He's smiling. It's not a happy one. He's teasing her.

Nami doesn't like that smile. It nags at something in the far corner of her mind, something dark and dirty and foul, something of which, she doesn't want to think about right now. She focuses on the book instead.

Nami stares thoughtfully at the book, running her palms up and down the smooth leather cover before opening it to one of the many dog-eared pages. The pages are worn, soft and well loved, judging by the scrawls in the margins and between the paragraphs. Her fingers trace the endless lines of what she knows are supposed to be words, but are nothing but lines on paper to her. A deep sense of loss wells up in the pit of her stomach, and for the life of her, Nami cannot understand why.

"Nami?" Law is watching her when she looks to him, his gaze is expectant and bright. When she can no longer stand his golden eyed stare, she turns away to face the book once more.

"I can't read it." Her fingers are trembling against the paper.

"I can't read the words…" she says softly, more to herself than to him.

Law stares at her for the longest time.

"You can't… read anymore?" He says this to himself and under his breath, so Nami knows better than to respond.

He says nothing more when he stands to leave. It's okay though. Nami doesn't know what she would say to him. She's afraid of what he may ask, and what he may do when she gives him the answer.

‡

‡

 _Present…_

She thinks she might be going crazy.

She's been told of this feeling, experienced it before even, this helplessness and dependency. Law is slowly taking over her waking world. He feeds her. He bathes her. He dresses her. He is everywhere and everything here. There is no time, no day or night, only the schedule of when Law decides to come and go in her small room with four walls, no windows, and one door.

This feeling is something she'd rather not relive. That time is something she'd rather not dwell on at all. She almost hates Law for recreating it. Almost.

Right now, though, she just lays like a corpse in her sterile white bed, eyes fastened to the white ceiling and occasional flicker of the single fluorescent light bulb. There is nothing. Nothing but the sound of Law's bustling on the other side of the door.

The door. She turns to her side to face it. Her gateway to freedom. Law does not let her go beyond it without his immediate presence. The only time she has left the room was to bathe, and even then, the bathroom is only three steps across the hall. It is also white.

Law has not brought her swords. He ignores her when she asks for them. He has also lied to her, so Nami thinks that she should kick him down a rank of friendship to acquaintanceship. His character to her is edging on villainous.

Her ear perks at an indistinctive mumble through the door.

… Voices?

That's new. Law doesn't speak to anyone or thing but her. Voices on the other side of the door is unusual.

She slips from the bed as quietly as she can and scampers across the room to press her ear to the door—Law does not know that she can walk on her own now, and after the events of the past—days?—weeks?—month?—she thinks she'll keep him in the dark about that.

"She's not recovered yet." Whoever he's talking to is annoying him. She can almost see him running his hand through his hair.

She strains to hear the reply, she knows he is talking about her, but can only catch a rough rumble.

Pity.

"We wouldn't make it, not like this."

A hiss from Law, and a thud. She assumes that he hit the wall.

"We need more time. She'll be up and ready in a month's time."

 _I'm up and ready now._ She doesn't say that aloud, of course.

Law sighs, then says to the person on the other side of the conversation, "I'll see you there."

Where? HQ? The rendezvous point? The Heart's safe house?

Before she can ponder more, Law's approaching footsteps prompt her to scramble back to her bed. Just as she's pulling the blanket up to her chin, Law enters the room.

The room is suddenly too small.

He glances at her before crossing the room in two easy strides and dropping onto the metal chair. From his pocket, he pulls out a notebook and pen.

"Are you feeling better today, Nami?"

"I'm fine," she says, giving him neither an affirmative nor a negative. If he wants to keep things from her, she'll do just the same.

"Do you have any shortness of breath, difficulty breathing—"

"I heard voices. Who were you talking to?" she interrupts.

His eyes flash to hers. "No one. It was the radio."

 _Liar._

"Oh, really?" Nami rolls over so that she is facing him fully.

"Yes, really," he says curtly. He clicks his pen turns over to a new page.

"Have you—" he begins, but Nami is not listening.

Law is lying to her.

Law does not trust her.

She has to do something about that.

‡

‡

She holds the hem of her little blue shift down tightly. Law makes an irritated noise and looks up at her with a frown, his hands fighting hers to pull the clothing off of her. She frowns back.

A man's hands on her body…

She twists violently away when his fingertips slide under the skirt and up her thigh dangerously high.

"I'll take it off myself, turn away," she says, inwardly surprised that there is no tremble in her voice even though her heart is thundering wildly in her chest. Law really likes to dredge up the ugly things, doesn't he?

"I've seen it all before, Nami-ya." She's not looking at him, but she can just see him rolling his eyes.

"Turn _around_."

"Fine," he says exasperatedly and spins on his heel with a sigh.

Nami undresses quickly, it's just a slip of fabric after all, and practically leaps into the bubble filled bathtub. It's a shame that there's no shower, however Nami will make due. Once she's safely inside—and hidden from Law's wandering eyes—she reaches to pull on his sleeve; only Law knows where the toiletries such as shampoo and soap are.

Without a word, Law hands her the soap and begins to wet her long hair. She jumps at first, but Law's washed her hair enough times that she can trust his hands will not wander towards any intimately private areas.

He's staring, she knows, at the tattoos on her back, but he won't ask her about them because the last time he did, she broke his nose. But never mind his staring, Nami fought tooth and nail to have this bath—a real bath, not just a wipe down with a wet cloth—and she was going to enjoy it.

They sit in silence as Nami cleans between her toes and Law gathers her hair into one hand. Just as he's lathering the long locks, Nami asks him what she's been wondering the entire time she's been here.

"Where are the others?"

His hands still, but for just one moment, and then he's massaging her scalp again. It feels nice. She leans back into his hands to better look him in the eye.

"Is Bepo alright?" she asks when it seems that he won't answer her first question.

"Bepo is fine," he grunts in a quick answer. He's avoiding her eyes.

"Is he angry with me?" She tracks all of the changes in his expression with trained eyes, the sweat on sliding down his temple, the furrow in his brow and slight, just slight, downward twitch of his mouth. He's nervous. If Nami were not herself or dumb, she would not know this. He is good at hiding it, she'll give him that.

"No, why would—"

"He hasn't come to see me." She doesn't let him finish, partly to rile him up and partly because she just wants to know.

"I'll take you to him," he offers as he begins to rinse the suds from her hair.

So Bepo and the others are not here, wherever this is.

"When?" she asks, catching his hands in hers to keep his attention.

"Soon." With the way he says it, it makes Nami think that he means never.

"Are you lying to me?" Her voice is low, and if he accused her of threatening him, she would not deny it. She gives his retreating hands a warning squeeze before letting them free. Almost immediately, Law turns around to find a towel.

He doesn't answer her.

"You haven't been sleeping," he says instead, still not facing her, "Hurry and finish, you've been in here for nearly ten minutes."

He's a terrible liar. He can't do it, so he avoids it.

Nami plays along anyway.

"Nightmares," she says truthfully with a small shrug. His brow is furrowed deeper than before when he finally faces her with the towels. She pushes him to turn away before she stands and dries herself.

"Arlong?" he asks nonchalantly, as though he knows her, as though he knows of that monster. She nearly slips on the wet tiles and blinks in surprise at the back of his head. He inclines his head towards her and she is quick to slip on the shift. If Law were anyone else, she would say that he looked almost disappointed that he didn't catch a glimpse of her nubile form. But Law is Law, and in all the time she's spent with him, he's never lusted after women.

All the more reason she doesn't trust him. He is no normal man.

He waits patiently, for her to answer him.

"You knew him?" Her voice is timid when she speaks, so unlike herself. She feels naked under his gaze, though the new white shift is soft against her skin. She doesn't like that he knows this. How does he know? He can't know. No one knows of Arlong, no but her and—

"…No." Law watches her for a long moment. "I knew you."

She is dumbfounded. Before she can ask him what exactly he meant by that, Law puts one hand at her elbow and the other on the small of back and sweeps her back into the white room. He presses her into bed, pulls the blankets over her damp body and doesn't allow her to protest as he holds his palm over her forehead to keep her there.

"Go to sleep, Nami."

Nami doesn't like the way he's babying her, _controlling her_ , but obediently shuts her eyes anyway.

She knows that with people like Law, it's better not to argue.

Law leaves eventually, but even then, sleep does not come.

‡

‡

Her hair is still damp from the bath earlier, but she pays the tangle of curls no mind as she slips out of the bed. The floor is cold under her bare feet. Softly, quietly, as to not alert Law, she creeps to the end off the bed's frame, lifts the corner of the mattress wedged by the wall and from the space, pulls a stainless steel butter knife. It may be duller than she would like, but she knows from experience that something is better than nothing at all.

She'd taken the knife after a particularly nasty argument—if he'd just tell her _something_ her mood wouldn't be so foul—that involved a lot of broken dishes and wasted food many visits ago. Law didn't drop her level of swearing, but she could tell that day, that he was close.

On the other side of the door, she can hear Law walk to and fro, washing dishes and performing other homely chores she never knew he was so well acquainted with. The thought of him not cleaning well enough to her standards makes her shiver with disgust. It is a miracle she hasn't fallen ill from the lack of cleanliness.

But no matter.

Nami must focus on something more important now. She will not sit idly a rot away in this cage—no, not that word, don't use that word—this _prison_.

She grips her pilfered weapon in her non dominant hand, crouches lows to the floor exactly five paces from the door, and waits.

His humming has yet to stop.

Based on his pattern, in approximately nine hundred and seventy-six seconds, Law will open the door.

* * *

 _ **Reviews, follows or anything from the readers are loved! Thank you for reading!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE;**_ **Law is hard to write… So... nothing really happened, but it's getting there...**


	3. three, much too cold

_**Welcome Back!**_

 _ **Sorry for the delay, but now that school has started once again, I've been really busy! I haven't been able to respond to the reviews, but I have read them, I'm not ignoring you, I promise. Stuff happens when you have a full time job, go to college part time and have a growing baby. Anyway, since I haven't been able to respond I just want to put out a special thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and faved last chapter! Thanks to outofblue, Alena S. Anigor, Anna, Aquila Audax, Reaganbrie, Pajamaly, Liger48, xMousex, sarge1130, hamstercheese7, JulieNat, momowoahwoah, JacklynKarst, SeinfieldFreak and my two guest reviewers! All of my readers, as well, actually. Okay, I'll stop talking now and let you enjoy the next chapter. Onwards!**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

One year prior to the start of our story, when Law gifts her with an old book, Nami discovers to her dismay that she has lost her ability to read, the reason unknown to her. Meanwhile, in the present, she decides to take action after overhearing a conversation through her 'prison' door. Tired of Law's false answers, Nami arms herself with a stolen knife and waits for him to return so that she may begin with her plans to escape.

* * *

 _ **t**_ **hree** _ **| much too cold**_

 _One Year Prior…_

"Welcome to the Revolutionary Army."

The blond man with the scarred face gives her a tight smile—a simple upturn of one corner of his lips. The girl with big, baby blue eyes standing just beside his cobalt chair offers one that is more sincere, as if trying to compensate for his lack of enthusiasm.

Nami is not stupid. She knows that he doesn't trust her nor does he seem inclined to in the near future.

"Thank you for having me," is her curt, polite but rude reply.

When it becomes apparent that the blond won't respond, the girl is quick to speak.

"Well," she says with a nervous chuckle, "We need all the manpower we can get."

"I'm a woman," Nami says pointedly. She wonders just how far the girl is willing to trip over herself to amend things.

"Ah, I apologize, did I offend you? Womanpower as well." The blue-eyed beauty is wringing her hands now, unable to meet Nami's gaze. Nami doesn't know why that is. She doesn't think she's doing anything hostile.

She smiles and is slightly amused when the girl flinches.

"Say, Nami, was it?" the girl asks with a hint of nervousness.

"Yes." Is Nami's one-word reply.

"You're a pirate, yes?"

"I'm not."

"Pardon?"

"I do a little of everything."

She nods absently. "Yes, yes, I've been informed, but, ah… You're apart of a crew, are you not?"

A crew? The only crew Nami is affiliated with is Law's and even then, that's not official. The only crew before that—

"No," Nami says firmly. Perhaps too firmly, judging by the blond man's sudden frown.

"Have you ever been?" asks the girl. There's confidence in her voice now, as if she has Nami right where she wants her.

"No," Nami repeats.

The girl blinks those wide blue eyes. "Oh."

Nami waits patiently for the girl to continue. To her surprise, it is the man who speaks.

He reaches into the folder sitting on his mahogany desk and pulls out a single sheet of paper. "Have you seen this man?"

It's a picture, a wanted poster, really, but the photo on the poster is glossy and bright, and with the way the boy's smiling at the camera, it might as well be a photograph. It's a nice smile, Nami notes with a pang of longing, eye scrunched from the force of it, lips stretched wide and all pearly whites. His hand is reaching towards the lens, as though maybe he's waving or patting the photographer, and just to the side, is the back of someone's head. A familiar head, but don't all heads look the same from the back?

"Well? Have you?" he prompts, a tad of impatience in his tone.

She realizes that she is staring. She raises her gaze to meet his, an instinctive smirk curling at the edges of her mouth when she sees the fire in his eyes. Neither of them blink, and for one breathless second, the room is at a complete standstill, caught between the tension burning off the scarred man's taut body and her own. When she speaks, that fire in his eyes burn brighter.

"No," she says evenly, "Never."

‡

‡

 _Present…_

There.

His footsteps.

Nami counts them as they come closer, closer, and finally, outside the door. The shadow of his figure shines through from the bottom of the door. The deadbolts are slid away, and ever so slowly, does the doorknob turn. Her heart thrums evenly, but wildly in her chest as Law puts one foot into the room. She can just see his face. He doesn't see Nami, he's much too focused on the bed where she should be. When his entire figure is inside the room she rises from her crouch. Only then does he turn to see her.

He's too slow.

Nami jumps.

It's tangle of limbs and swears as they fall backwards from the force of her body slam. He grunts as they tumble onto the concrete floor, his hands raising to claw at her forearm where she has it pressed to his throat. He's able to get the upper hand for a second—just one second—by flipping them over with the weight of his body, but Nami butts the flat of her forehead to his nose and his grip slackens. In the next second, she has the control. She makes quick work of his hands by pinning them to his torso with her thighs. Once more, she holds him to the ground with her arm to his throat and blunt knife tip biting into the skin just above his carotid artery. He freezes when the blade breaks skin.

Face to face with his panting breath against the skin of her cheeks, Nami meets his gaze. Instead of panic in his yellow eyes, she sees something akin to amusement.

She sneers when he smiles.

"What are you doing, Nami-ya?" he drawls in a lazy tone. He shifts so that their noses touch, completely at ease.

She doesn't answer him. Instead, she pushes more firmly with the dull knife.

"Congratulations, you tackled me down and have me at your mercy." He smiles wider, egging her temper. "What will you do now, Nami?"

He has the gall to lean up so that his lips brush against hers when he asks mockingly, "Are you going to kill me?"

"That depends on what you tell me," she growls through her teeth, refusing to play his game.

He shrugs, unconcerned by her threat. "You can go ahead. The only one who can take you out of this place is me. You wouldn't want to be stuck here forever, now would you?"

Nami hisses in anger at his lax attitude. "Fuck you."

"By all means," he grins, his tone dripping with perversion. Nami is quick to dispel that.

Her punch has him spitting blood. He coughs and Nami is smug to see that it takes a while for his eyes to focus on her face once again.

"This is exactly why you were assigned to stay at the base, you're too volatile. I'm not your enemy," he says angrily, all the playfulness gone.

"Your behavior towards me suggests otherwise."

"I saved you—"

"And imprisoned me, conducted tests on me and just right now, sexually harassed me. That doesn't sound like very heroic deeds, now does it, Doctor?" she sneers at him, her tone downright nasty. She not done though. "You thought that I wouldn't catch the taste of the truth serum and sleeping powders you were slipping into my food? I'm surprised such a stingy man like you were willing to use truth serum, I know it doesn't come cheap, nor can you purchase it through legal means."

His eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly smothers the expression as he races to defend himself.

"That was for your—"

"My recovery? Like hell. The drugs you put in the soup was to make me hallucinate, and you sat by my bedside to see what would happen when I did."

"Let me finish, damn it!"

"Oh? Did I rile up the big, bad Doctor Law? Are you angry with me?" She mocks him as she drags the sharp of the knife along his cheek.

He spits, and the glob of saliva flies through the air before landing onto Nami's pale cheek just beside her nose with a wet splat. She recoils and in the time she takes to visibly cringe, Law reverses their position with a hard shove. Her head hits the concrete floor none to gently.

"You shouldn't have laid out all your cards, Nami-ya," he scolds, as if she were like a child, "Now I know everything that's been going on in that pretty little head of yours."

"Let me go."

"Or what?" His smile is back full force.

He's close enough that Nami can see every individual eyelash and her own reflection in his pupils. His tongue darts out to wet his lip and Nami doesn't miss a beat. She tips her chin up to capture the tip of his tongue between her teeth and bites down hard. She doesn't let go until she tastes blood and Law begins to screech.

"You bitch!" he swears, backing up enough off of her that her legs are freed. His hands release hers to nurse his bleeding tongue. She takes the chance she's been given and shoves his body away with the balls of her feet. The butter knife lays forgotten in the corner of the room, and as if sensing her thoughts, Law dives for it at the same time she does.

Law's stronger, but Nami's faster.

She takes the knife and drives it into the center of his palm, pinning him to the wall.

Just as quickly, Nami rolls to her feet and bolts out the open door, stopping only to wipe the spit from her face. Her senses are assaulted by scents as soon as she crosses the threshold. It's smells of chlorine and stale bread—how ironic—and it's dark, the only source of light being a low burning fire pit in the center of the concrete floor. She turns, left, right, left again, but the room beyond the door and past the bathroom is nothing but four walls of peeling white paint. There are no windows or doors here either.

She can hear Law standing up in the bedroom, and immediately rushes to the darkened kitchen, which consists only of a dripping sink, a refrigerator and length of countertop that's only as long as her forearm. Her hands pat blindly around the countertop for a knife, fork, spoon, something.

He grunts loudly from the bedroom—Nami guesses that he's pulled the knife out of his hand—and then his heavy footsteps are staggering towards her. Her eyes flick to the dying fire.

Forget the knife.

She'll take that hot poker.

She jumps for it.

Law is in the room in seconds. "Stop! Or I'll burn it."

He's holding a piece of paper, a blank piece of paper, barely the size of his palm. Nami almost scoffs, she's about to tell him to go ahead and burn that trash when she recognizes it for what it is. Her heart stutters.

"No! Don't!" She drops the poker, even raising her hands to show that she has nothing to use against him in a hopeful attempt to pacify him.

But Law's always had a mean streak.

He drops it and it flutters innocently into the hearth. Nami watches, frozen in abject horror as it catches fire. Too late does her body move.

"You bastard!" she screeches as she dives to save the paper. She rakes the embers and still hot coals away in a sad attempt to save the paper. It's fruitless. The card is already gone. Still, she digs through the ash as though she may find it safe and unharmed beneath it all.

"How could you—that was—the only—I can't—!" Her mind is so muddled with hopelessness, sadness and unbridled fury that she can't string together the words to shout at him.

She snaps when he tries to touch her.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" She throws handfuls of the hot ash at him, ignoring when it burns her hands. He catches her wrists and it only adds fuel to her anger.

"Nami. Look at me—"

"Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me!" She's snarling and hissing like a feral cat, hands burning just as much as her heart as she claws his hands off her. She doesn't want his filthy, dirty, lying hands on her. She doesn't want it, doesn't want it, doesn't want it!

"Die!" she commands in an ear splitting roar as she gives one final shove, "Go die and rot in hell you motherfucking son of a bitch!"

The string of obscenities that follow that command are incoherent as she loses herself to her anger and sadness. She crawls away on her hands and knees from Law, the hearth and the damning ashes to curl in on herself in the darkest corner of the room. There, she cries like a madwoman, keening and sobbing so hard that her ears ring.

Law does not follow.

‡

‡

When her sobs have died and her body has stopped shaking from the force of her tears, Law slips next to her and wipes the soot from her hands with a wet washcloth. He's gentle, surprisingly so. It's a far cry from his usual clinical and rough treatment. When he's finished with her hands, he leaves and returns with a new towel for her face.

She doesn't look at him, not even when he reaches to hold her face in his palms.

He sighs.

Nami says nothing.

He sighs again.

When Nami starts to sniffle with a new wave of sadness, Law presses a pristine piece of paper into the palm of her hand, curling both their fingers over it.

He doesn't apologize.

"I didn't burn it, so stop crying," is all he says.

And Nami knows, that this is the closest to an 'I'm sorry' she will ever receive from him.

‡

‡

Law shakes her awake.

"Nami," he says just as she's opening her eyes, "Wake up, we're leaving."

"Leaving?" she asks through her sleepy haze.

"Leaving," he repeats firmly. Then with a sigh, says, "Here."

He drops a heavy bundle onto the bed beside her before hurrying out of the room. Nami's attention is immediate. She recognizes that weight. Tiredness forgotten, Nami sits up straight in bed and pulls away the blanket to be sure. Though one is slightly stained—with her own blood, no doubt; she would have to scrub the stain from the white sheath later—they are perfect, untouched and most importantly, just as she remembers. Her swords.

She counts, one, two and three, then again, one, two and three. All here. They're all here. She's so happy that she kisses the hilts of all three and holds them close, even though it's hard to cuddle katana. When Law enters the room again, a pack in his left hand and a steaming cup in the right, he gives her a slightly appalled look as though he can't quite believe that she's hugging metal.

"I missed them," she says to dispel his questioning, borderline disturbed look. She doesn't think he should one to judge, with he way he's constantly cradling his nodachi.

He rolls his eyes, though has enough decency to do it behind closed lids. "They're just metal, they can be replaced."

"No, not these. These are special," she argues, but sets them down anyway. She gives them a fond pat as Law crosses the room to stand at her side.

"Why?" he asks, and when she blinks in confusion, asks again, "Why are they important when you never use them?"

Nami has known him long enough to know that tone of his voice. He sounds anxious, the way he gets when he's impatient and edging nearer and nearer towards something he's been working on for days on end. If Nami were crueler, like him, she would twist that to her advantage.

But she isn't.

So instead, Nami shrugs and says dismissively, "They just are."

Law visibly deflates. She takes the cup from his outstretched hand to dispel some of his encroaching annoyance.

"Drink it," he orders her when she stares for too long at her reflection in the murky black liquid.

"I—" she begins, but Law pushes the cup closer to mouth. Some of the black liquid sloshes over the lip of the cup and onto the white bed sheets. She grimaces as she mentally calculates how long it would take to scrub that kind of stain. An hour? Maybe one and a half? Law nudges her again and the thought is dropped as she focuses on the black... stuff.

 _God, the smell…_

She takes a sip obediently—lest he punish her by taking her swords—before trying to hand it back with a pinched face. It tastes how it looks. Foul. Law doesn't relent though.

"All of it," he presses with impatience.

"I already drank some," she argues weakly past a gagging cough.

"Not enough," he growls in answer.

She glares and he glares right back.

Apparently, his patience is thin today. He snatches the cup from her hand and forcefully pours the liquid into her mouth. When Nami tries to spit it out, he covers her mouth and nose. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is near painful.

"If you spit or puke, you'll have to drink two more." His hand stays firmly clamped over her mouth.

Tears slip out from the corners of her eyes from the bitterness but she forces herself to swallow, much more intent on living than drowning on nasty black, mystery medicine. Once there's nothing left to swallow, Law lets her go. Immediately, she gags.

" _That was disgusting_!" she says as she attempts to speak without touching her tongue to any part of her mouth while shaking her head. " _What is that_?"

"Medicine."

"What _kind_?" she nearly wails as her stomach cramps. She's almost afraid to swallow her saliva in fear of having that taste go down her throat once more.

"Medicine."

He hands her an orange.

"Here. It'll get rid of the taste."

Nami stubbornly turns away from his piercing gaze but peels the orange and eats it like he said to without another word. He doesn't speak to her again, not when he teleports them out of the bunker, not when they trek through a burned graveyard of a forest, not even when they stop and make camp for the night. Nami doesn't mind though. A quiet Law is a pleasant Law.

Besides, she still hasn't quite forgiven him.

‡

‡

It's cold.

Too cold, too the point that Nami's calves tighten and her fingers are numb. She opens her eyes to see that she's laying propped up beside a wooden door. There's snow on the deck around her and on her body. Off in the distance, she can see a glacier standing up proudly from the near black ocean. She stands, and is appalled to see that she's dressed in a simple pair of worn denim shorts and striped bikini top. Only this in the snow?

She shivers when a particularly harsh wind bites into her bare skin and immediately opens the door to seek shelter. Inside, a distinctly masculine voice calls out to her.

"Is that you, Nami-swan?"

Her eyes are drawn towards a luxurious looking kitchen, filled with stainless steel appliances and endless rows of cabinetry. At the sink, is man with flaxen hair scrubbing furiously at a pot.

"Yeah…" she answers nervously. He doesn't seem to notice it as he spins on his heel to give her a winning smile. His visible eye not covered with his hair shines so brightly that she swears there's stars in there somewhere.

He gestures to the closest barstool. "Sit down my sweet, I made breakfast."

She sits.

A plate is set in front of her, warm and spicy smelling. She eats, much too cold from the outside snow to ask the starry eyed man much else.

When she's finished and the plate is nearly licked clean, she asks out curiosity, "It's good, what is it?"

He cocks his head, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth dangerously close to slipping. "You've never had it before?"

"Never."

"Venison," he says with a smile. He leans back against the countertop to cross his arms over his chest.

"Deer?" she asks for confirmation, her eyes zeroing in on a little blue hat sitting innocently on the counter just beside the man's elbow.

"Reindeer, to be exact." At her questioning look—because where in the world did he find a reindeer in the ocean—he shrugs and says easily, "Emergency food supply."

‡

‡

When Nami wakes, drenched in cold sweat and chest heaving for a reason she does not know, it is to dying embers in the fire and Law's pinched face across from her. He's curled in on himself, laying on a bedroll but with nothing covering his body from the night chill. If she stares hard enough, she can see him shiver. She moves to sit, and is surprised when two blankets fall from her shoulders.

Ah, so that's where his blanket is.

Nami adds fuel to the embers, poking and prodding until it's blazing again. Once she's satisfied that the fire will last the rest of the night, she drags her bedroll beside Law's. Though she would rather not, she knows he'll die or fall ill if she were to leave him in his current state. Both would be a bother. She lays down, her back to his—she finds it amusing that he immediately stiffens—and pulls the only two blankets over their bodies. Her swords, she places in her arms.

"Nami?" His voice is groggy from sleep. He pauses, reaching over his shoulder to touch hers, as if making sure she's really there before saying, "I want to know something. Tell me."

"Hmm?"

"How do you know what truth serum tastes like?"

Nami blinks.

Truth serum? She knows it's taste, how it's subtle and almost bitter and leaves just the faintest of films on the tongue, she knows it because—

Her mind flashes still shots of what were—are memories of a time past. Blurred colors, black on blue, the crack of a whip, the smell of salt and sour tang of vomit and the figure of a big, big man with a terrible smile. Then a little girl, a baby really, with gold spun hair and liquid gold eyes that drip diamonds, reaches towards her to say, " _Please_."

Perfect little fingers reach out to touch her cheeks, cold like death as they draw nonsensical shapes in blood on her face, " _Help me_."

They curl around her cheeks, so tender, then slide until they encircle her neck. There, the little fingers squeeze, tighter and tighter, until Nami can't move, can't see, can't breathe—

Nami gasps, and with the intake of breath, the picture vanishes and she is here, not there. By the fire, in the burnt forest with Law's warm body pressed against her back. Here, not there. She shivers.

Her heart is racing.

Law moves as if to turn towards her, but she catches his hand to keep him where he is.

"Go to sleep, Law." It's a whisper, and it sounds so broken and cold that Nami's embarrassed by the tone. To her relief, he complies and though eventually he does, his breath evening and body relaxing, Nami does not.

Instead, she stares out into the black, looking without seeing and waits for dawn to come.

‡

‡

 _One Year Prior…_

It took some time, more than she would have cared to waste, but eventually, she got that smug bastard to like her. But, even if it took more time, it was almost too easy to steal his attention. Besides, it's hard to keep up walls when a girl like Nami is sweet on you.

No matter on that. She has his attention, that's all that matters, and tonight was what she had waited with painful impatience for. Tonight, his stickler of a roommate was to be gone as he had been assigned a mission. He was going to all alone in his room. And, as luck would have it, Sabo was not present on base to breathe down her neck like usual. Just like Nami wants, no, needs.

She takes special care to spoil herself in the bath by soaking in a citrus scented water, rubbing floral oils into her skin and brushing out her long hair until it shines like silk. By the time she steps from the bathroom, hair curling artfully against her pale flushed cheeks, she's glowing. Literally and metaphorically.

Law stops her in the hallway two steps from her room. His eyes narrow in on her neatly styled hair and white cotton sundress that clings to every rise and dip of her body. Frivolities like lace, perfume and lipstick aren't at all common at the base. Unless you were one of the thirty beli women they brought in from outside the walls. Then of course, by all means.

"Where are you going?" _Like that_ , is implied, but not said.

She simply gives him her best smile and tells him not to worry. He frowns, and when he opens his mouth to say more—ask more, pry and dig for things that are none of his business—she interrupts to assure him that she will return by curfew to spend the rest of the night in his company. With that promise, he lets her go, but not without one more suspicious glance her way.

Nami simply continues down the hall, the heels of her sandals clicking against the concrete. She's not worried. It should only take twenty minutes, after all.

She stops by the kitchens—nearly empty at this time of the evening—and finds a pretty teapot with pretty little tea cups to match her pretty hair, pretty dress and pretty, pretty face. Throwing open the cabinets where they store the tea, she takes her pick. Darjeerling. Yes, he would like that. That bastard would like it very much. For a such a beastly brute, he had a strangely delicate palate.

She sets water to boil, and after some contemplation, she pulls the largest carving knife from the knife block. She tests the weight in her hands with a cock of her head. Good enough.

With practiced hands, Nami assembles the tea and cups onto a white tray and finds some cold cookies to serve alongside it. She takes special care to place the knife just behind the dainty teapot, closest to her, right next to the single apple she carried all the way over from her room.

"You look very pretty, Miss Nami," says one of the child recruits as she leaves the kitchen and makes her way towards the western barracks.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

The boy, bless his heart, blushes before scampering away to join his peers.

His door is ajar when she reaches it and it takes no effort on her part to nudge it open with the toe of her sandaled foot.

"Nami?"

The bastard looks her up and down, his eyes seemingly unsure of where to settle. She couldn't have asked for a better reaction.

"I brought tea," she says as she sets the tray down on the low table by his cot. His eyes zero in on her blatant show of cleavage and she scoffs in disgust in the privacy of her mind. Men. They're all the same. Still, she gives him a coy look.

There is fire in his eyes. Not the kind of anger, or bloodlust, but the kind that begs for the slick slide of skin on skin. It must have been quite some time since his last time with a woman, because she can almost taste his eagerness as it radiates off his body. He seems as if he knows exactly what's coming his way.

She almost feels sorry. The poor bastard, though held in high esteem by his men and crew, is just a simple man. Not quite ignorant, but not quite brilliant, and just too easy. Her slight stir of pity is washed away, however, at the promise of the forbidden fruit that she will attain after her deed is done.

She turns to close the door and with the way she's angled, he can't see when she turns the lock. She listens with glee as the bolt slides shut with a click. When she turns back around, she pulls the straps of her pretty white sundress down her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

His eyes are riveted as she closes the distance to lean against the edge of his low hanging table. She parts her legs and he slides between them with all of the grace of a heavily concussed pig.

It makes Nami smile—wide, sweet, pretty and absolutely predatory. So entranced by her naked body and the want to touch her glistening skin, he doesn't notice when Nami's fingers dance over the handle of the half hidden carving knife, doesn't notice when she slides the blade soundlessly from the tray and behind her back.

The poor, poor bastard.

* * *

 _ **Reviews, follows, or anything from the readers are loved, and I mean it! Thank you for reading!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE;**_ **So…is it beli or is it beri?**


	4. four, and she was beautiful

_**Hello!**_

 _ **I didn't get to address a reader's concerns in the previous chapter, but I think this is a good question, one that all of you may be wondering as well. As Aquila Audax pointed out in chapter two:**_ _"A slight inconsistency I noticed is that one minute Nami muses that Law has "never lusted after women" but previously she'd noticed and been bothered by him staring at her cleavage?"_

 _ **Yes, you are completely right. There is an inconsistency. Law seems to have stared at her cleavage, but he yet doesn't chase after all the pretty ladies. I won't answer directly (because that would ruin all the fun!) but I will ask you this, is Nami mistaken in thinking that Law doesn't lust after women, or is she mistaken in thinking that Law is staring at her body? Is this the only inconsistency? If there are more, why is that? Most importantly, can you trust Nami, knowing that there are holes in her way of thinking?**_

 _ **Speaking of questions and reviews, I'd like to thank sarge1130 for all the wonderful reviews you've left! You are so close to hitting the nail on the head, I can't really reply without giving everything away! Also my guest reader, Awesome Guest, your reviews make me laugh, thank you for leaving your thoughts and reactions, I'm happy you enjoyed reading my work. And thank you Liepe and Chanilla, I'm glad you like my writing!**_

 **Just to make sure there's no confusion, when I state the number of months before/prior, I am referring to the number of months** _ **before the first chapter**_ **, not the current time with Nami and Law.**

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

Nami joins the Revolutionary army, one year prior to our story, yet finds that the leader harbors some sort of distrust of her, though she does not know why. It appears to her that the lack of trust is due to the man that she is shown a picture of, but does not recognize. In present time, Nami attempts to interrogate Law, only to have the tables flipped when Law tries to burn one of her belongings; a small slip of paper. After Nami's angry fit, Law seemingly relents and takes Nami out of her 'prison' and allows her to carry her three swords once more. Together, they begin a journey through a near barren landscape to reunite with Law's crew, all the while Nami begins to have oddly vivid dreams.

* * *

 _ **f**_ **our |** _ **and she was beautiful**_

 _9 months prior…_

Trouble worms its way into her path slowly but surely.

Men, most of which, were the lackeys of the smug bastard, eye her suspiciously when she leaves the haven of her room. Though they find ways to annoy her, from passive aggressive remarks on her spotty schedule to purposely standing in her way, she pays them little to no mind, much to their dismay. But—what she can't ignore is the fact that a man has been trailing her around the fourth floor of the base for nearly half an hour already.

She sighs.

Some people are too nosy for their own good.

"If you're trying to fool me, I hate to inform you, but you're doing a rather terrible job of it," she says over her shoulder after she sets down her worn jump rope. She wipes the sweat from her face and neck with a towel, watching as he slips from around the darkened corner and into sight. Towel draped over her neck and water bottle in hand, she drops to sit on the floor. "Were you planning on following me to the showers as well? Or to my bedroom?" She raises the bottle to her lips. "How scandalous of you."

He growls lowly at her from behind his striped mask, "I don't trust you."

"The feeling is mutual," she responds with a shrug and offers him a bland smile.

In a blink of the eye, his hand is at her throat and pinning her to the wall. The tips of her toes barely graze the floor and her water bottle is making quite the puddle at their feet, but Nami only stares at his mask passively. She wonders what color his eyes are. Seeing that his hair is an unruly mane of blonde, the most likely color would be blue. Or perhaps brown. Hm. Maybe green.

The heat of his breath escapes from the holes in mask and brushes against her cheeks, drawing Nami from her thoughts. She fights the urge to wipe away the sensation. His breath smells of whiskey.

 _Ah_ , she thinks, _liquid courage_.

He nearly spits when he speaks, "Don't think I won't kill you, witch. I know it was you."

"Oh? And what have I done?" Nami inquires coolly as she cocks a brow. This only aggravates him more, but she wants to know just how angry he is, and how many buttons she can push before he snaps. Especially when she knows that he's such a laid back fellow.

Well, usually.

"Don't play dumb. Women just don't flock to our captain, they're too scared. The ones that do come only do so because they want something from him. You," he sneers, "are no different."

She brings up a hand to examine her nails, ignoring the way her jaw is beginning to ache. "You still haven't told me what it is that has you so angry with me."

"You know."

"I really don't. Enlighten me," she says, punctuating her last sentence with an owlish blink.

"Where is he?!"

A little bit dumbly, all too innocently, she asks dispassionately, "Who?"

It seems that Mr. Killer has no qualms about raising his hands to women. Her head is reeling from the force of his backhand and she sees stars for a moment, then tastes blood the next. She's bitten her tongue.

"My captain, witch! What did you do to him?" The brute is big enough that he can lift her off of her feet and shake her. When she only glares, he throws her to the floor. He reaches behind him to pull out his blades, prompting Nami to do the same. She reaches to her own weapon, the knife strapped to her thigh, her mind racing as she mentally tries to calculate the best way to kill this threat. She scrambles back, to put some distance between them and give herself more time. Her body warms in anticipation of a fight.

She can almost hear him smirk behind that mask as he says, "Let's see how tight lipped you'll be after I cut up that pretty face of yours."

"There will be no cutting of any kind." Law's terse voice cuts the tension in the room, his presence immediate. Nami feels her body relax and turns to see him observing the two of them with a carefully blank expression. His eyebrows furrow when his gaze falls on her, eyes questioning, but Nami only gives him a simple shrug in explanation.

Law sighs.

"I have to ask you to put your weapons away, Killer," Law says as he helps Nami to her feet. When Killer moves to come closer, Law steps in front of Nami to shield her away from the brutish blond.

"Get out of the way." When the demand draws no reaction from Law, the blond reaches to grab a fistful of Law's pristine, white laboratory coat. "I don't care how important you are to the army, I'll kill you just the same, _Doctor_. They don't call me Killer for nothing."

Law remains perfectly impassive to the threat. "If Nami-ya's taken something of yours and you wish for it back, there's no need for violence. I'm sure she'll see reason if you simply—"

"She didn't take a silly little toy from me! This _conniving little bitch_ —"

"What's going on here?"

All eyes jump to the figure that wasn't there before. Law is the first to speak.

"Sabo." Law nods his head in greeting to the leader of the Army before pushing Killer's now slack hand away from his collar. "I was wondering the same thing," he says in that lazy drawl of his.

Sabo's gaze dart between the three of them, eventually settling on Killer, the aggressor. His face puckered in what Nami takes to be impatience. "No fighting amongst soldiers, I made those terms very clear upon your recruitment, Killer."

Nobody moves. A tip of his chin from Sabo and Killer finally steps back to stand at a more appropriate distance.

"Dr. Trafalgar is your superior; I expect you to treat him as such. Failure to do so and you will be punished. Need I remind you of your predicament, should you and your crew be left without the protection of the Army?" Sabo admonishes with a cock of his brow.

Killer grunts, but says nothing.

"If I see you so much as look at an officer or another soldier the wrong way, I will withdraw my protection over you and your men." Sabo's eyes narrow in a way that is unfitting with the softness of his round eyes. "You know what waits for you outside of the walls." He clears his throat and says with no amount of kindness, "Understand, Killer?"

The man in question ducks his head.

"Very well, be on your way then," Sabo says, watching as the brute very nearly stomps away with wary eyes before facing Nami. "Nami, to my office."

He turns on his heel for Nami to follow, but when Law tries to do the same, he is quick to cut him down. "Without Dr. Trafalgar, if you would please."

Law grumbles but does not argue.

The old room which Sabo calls his office seems strangely empty without the presence of the girl with the baby blue eyes. He takes his usual seat on his cobalt chair, behind the fat desk overfull of papers and poorly drawn maps. Nami finds herself, due to habit, obsessively scanning the room for all exits and potential weapons that could be used against her. When he doesn't speak immediately, she asks, "Should I be afraid?"

A rare smile tugs at his lips. "I don't know. Have you done any wrong lately?"

She gives him a smile of her own, and says easily, "Of course not."

The sound that escapes him sounds more like a strangled cry than a chuckle, but Nami tries not to ponder on it too much.

"Sit down Nami." He gestures to the stiff little wooden chair in front of his desk. Nami slides into the chair without fuss. She crosses her ankles and folds her hands politely in her lap, expression expectant. He runs a hand through his hair, and the gesture is so like Law, that it looks almost wrong from Sabo to use it.

Too late does she realize that he's speaking, and she's not listening. "…as you know, I don't have much free time and don't have—"

"What do you want, Sabo?" she asks tersely.

His face changes then, morphing into a shell of the man. He looks ragged and beaten, nothing like domineering leader he puts himself out to be most days. As his shoulders slump, Nami notices the little things, like the bags under his eyes, the small wrinkles here and there, most noticeably between his brows and the fact that his mouth is almost very nearly always frowning. He looks… defeated, worn— _old_.

Nami averts her eyes. It feels out of her place to be seeing him this way.

"I need your help," he says as he puts his forehead in his hands.

Her eyes are drawn back his haggard appearance.

"With?" she prompts.

His eyes are sharper than steel when they meet hers.

"I need your help in finding my brother," he says, his nervous energy returning tenfold as he reaches into the depths of his messy desk to pull out a folder that is falling apart at the seams.

"He's been missing for seven years," Sabo explains, his gloved hands very nearly shaking as he whips out various pictures and maps to show her. "This is him when he was young, this the most recent picture of him and here is the last place he was seen, an island in the…"

He's still speaking, but Nami's attention is caught on the picture. It's the same face that she was shown the first day she joined, but the familiarity she is feeling is of an entirely different reason. She knows that smile. Her hand leaves her lap to trace her fingertips against the boy's face.

There is fire in the boy's eyes. The kind of fire she lost, so long ago.

"He looks…" she trails off slowly, her eyes riveted to the unmoving photo. Sabo stops in his rambling to look at the same photograph.

"Silly?" Sabo supplies with a sardonic chuckle. It seems that he's had that answer one too many times.

Nami shakes her head.

"Happy," she says quietly after a long while. "He looks very happy."

‡

‡

 _Present…_

She's worried.

Though it is not something foreign to her, as Nami is a frequent worrier and nitpicker of the tiniest of tiny details—something of which annoys many people to no end, Law in particular, though she thinks that he is not one who should complain, not when he spends hours on end picking at the most mundane of tasks—this particular worry that has occupied her mind for the better part of the morning puzzles her to no end.

She simply cannot understand the reason for the oddly timed worry, and that in it of itself gives her all the more reason for her to worry.

Something is making the pit of her stomach twist uncomfortably. Her hands are clammy and she keeps finding herself biting viciously at her now ragged nails. The anxiety is making her sick, sicker than the putrid medicine Law regularly forces down her throat every morning. Her clammy hands shake and her steps as she paces back and forth on the bow of the passenger ship are unsteady. Some of the other travelers stay a good distance away from her, whispering amongst themselves with furtive glances her way every so often.

She pays them no mind.

There are more important things to ponder. Things like the ache in her lower back, the unsettling way the breeze touches her skin and the wrongness. The air feels wrong. There is wrongness in the way the air feels, but Nami cannot understand why. She knows she should, she feels as though she should know—that she should understand—the answer is just on the tip of her tongue, but she just can't—

She stops in her pacing to kick the railing in frustration. Something's not right, but she doesn't know _what_. A deep sense of loss that is quickly becoming familiar overwhelms her and in her already unsettled state, it feels strangely fitting when she slumps to the ground and presses her teary face into her knees. The onlooker's whispering grows louder as she begins to cry silently to herself. Over the whispering, she hears footsteps approach her. She tenses at first, but then as they draw nearer, she lets herself relax slightly. She knows that stride.

"Nami," he says with a sigh. Her lips twitch downwards at the sound. She'd forgotten how much his constant sighing annoyed her.

"What's wrong?" he asks as he drops to sit beside her. His voice sounds tired, and though Nami does not see him, she can almost envision him as he runs a hand through his hair. She peeks up at him over the crook of her elbow, teary eyed and damp lashed. He reaches out to touch her, but she shifts away before he can make contact. Instead of her shoulder, his hand touches the hilt of the white sword she carries.

"Nami?" he prompts impatiently when she doesn't answer. She turns to hide away again.

"I don't know! I don't know what's wrong, just that something is," she says angrily. She wishes that her words weren't as true as they are, because it only serves to solidify the fact that things are slipping from her mind, little by little, and that there is nothing she can do against it.

He is quiet for a long while, before shifting closer so that he can place the whole length of his arm around her shoulders, though the action is made awkward due to the added bulk of the three swords she has strapped to her back. She flinches instinctively in reaction to his touch, but doesn't move away. The heat of his skin seeps through the fabric of his jacket and her shirt. The dry warmth is familiar in a way she can't name.

"Rain is due tonight," he says, close enough now that his breath disturbs her hair. He says this in a knowing tone, as though he knows her and knows all the inner workings of her mind in an inappropriately intimate way that she knows for a fact, should not be possible. She has never told him of her uncanny ability of predicting rain. But this fleeting suspicion of him falls away when her anxiety comes back and her breathing turns shallow.

She shakes her head in response to him.

Yes. Yes, rain is near, that much she knows by the smell in the strangely chill air, but—there's something else. Something… Something—big? Something—goddammit, she doesn't know _what_ , but _something_ is coming. And it's big. Really big.

"No. Not just rain," she says quietly. "Something… Something big…"

"What do you mean big?" He sounds alarmed. Nami peeks at him once again and catches his thoughtful frown. She frowns herself as she takes in his question. That's what she wants to know. If she had the answer, she would tell him, but she doesn't so instead she tells him very truthfully that she once again, doesn't know.

His frown deepens and he stands abruptly, leaving her feeling oddly lonely now that the heat of his body is gone.

"Stay here," is his growling demand before her stalks back the way he came. She bites her lip as she watches him leave the deck and absently brings her thumb to her mouth and nibbles on the nail.

She turns her face up to the sky, watching the thick of clouds as they stay unmoving against the sun. The pollution from the war has tainted the sky a sickly shade of greyish green, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, Nami remembers that it used be a brilliant blue, and that the sun was warm on her skin and that the oceans' water was once as stunning and opaque as a turquoise gemstone. The beauty of the sea as she remembered it—as she dreams it sometimes, surrounded by laughter, singing and squeals of joy and a blinding smile as warm and beautiful as the sun itself—has long fallen away, one of many victims of the war Sabo is so intent on winning.

She sighs.

That was then, and this is now.

She stands and begins to pace once more. She counts up to two thousand steps when Law returns to sweep her back to their cabin. There, amongst the rotting old wood and the threadbare sheets, she paces along the four walls, head in her hands and swords heavy on her back. Seated on the bed, Law scribbles furiously in his small notebook, occasionally taking out his small transponder snail to bark some one word commands at people Nami doesn't care enough about to recognize. Sometime later, when the pacing doesn't abate the nervousness and worry, Nami begins to count aloud. Anything to keep the anxiety at bay.

Law pays her no mind; not that she would stop if he did.

It is not until many hours later, that she stops.

‡

‡

"Putting aloe on your burns will soothe the pain," a small figure tuts at her as it searches the contents of it's drawer. "You shouldn't have grabbed the firecracker, that was very dangerous."

Nami can only stare in wonder as the tiny reindeer begins to wrap a length of gauze or cloth around her forearm. Its little pink and blue hat brushes her chin every so often and Nami squints as she tries hard to remember what she'd seen before.

"What is it, Nami?" it asks in a sweetly childish voice when it notices her staring. Its right ear twitches and Nami marvels at how animal like it is.

"Emergency food supply," she says in wonder and horror alike.

Her eyes open to solid darkness.

She has a moment of panic before realizing that the darkness is due to the fact that the candle in the room is no longer lit, not blindness on her part. She reaches an arm out to find her swords, relived when her hand brushes against all three where they stand propped against the side of the mattress. Slowly, her breathing evens and her heart slows in it's rapid pounding, allowing her to hear the shop groan as the waves of the ocean crash into it's sides.

Now that the anxiety has melted away, Nami is calm enough that she can enjoy the gentle side to side rocking of the ship. The ship that they had boarded the day before is one of the few illegal passenger ships, one of the few that dares to cross the ocean during such a time. With the raging war between the crumbling government and the ever growing Revolutionaries, not just any would have enough courage to sail. Especially with the state of the ocean water, filled with pollution and chemicals which rots wood unlike anything else.

Nami has a morbid thought of the ship falling apart mid journey, and ponders if she and Law would survive. Eventually, her thoughts bore her and she turns to Law where he lays beside her on the mattress. Due to her aversion to touch, he is forced to lay on the far side of the bed on top of the covers while she is snuggled under, one of his legs and arm constantly hanging off the side when he is not laying on his side.

"Law?" She pokes him in the side and he groans, swatting away her hand without looking at her. She pokes him again and again, unrelenting until he answers her.

"What?" he hisses at her. It's dark in the room, so she can't see his face, but she knows that he's not too pleased at being bothered. Not that Nami really cares, seeing as he's woken her at ungodly hours many times before, many times for no reason at all. Serves him right, the bastard.

"Where are we going?" she asks as she shifts so that she can face Law and keep one hand on her swords at the same time.

"I already told you, to the crew." He yawns and his body tenses as he stretches.

"So you did lie to me," she says pointedly.

He doesn't answer that.

After a pause, she asks, "Where are we?", to of which, he answers smartly with, "On a boat."

" _Law_ ," she chides with a poke to his stomach. He flinches.

"In the ocean," he tries again. Nami prods him in the side with her elbow none too gently. This time he yelps. "Nami that _hurt_."

"Don't be so rude then."

"I'm tired, Nami," he explains tiredly. He yawns again, this time loudly and Nami is reminded of her want of wanting to steal his tongue so long ago. Idly, she thinks that if he ever takes up that horrid humming of his again, she might be inclined to act on it.

Terrible thing it is, Law's humming.

She lets go of the swords so that she can turn over to her side and face Law fully. Her nose brushes his bare shoulder and Law flinches.

"Is that your nose? It's cold as—"

"Suck it up, and deal with it," she grumbles before he can insult the coldness of her nose.

Her mind wanders, thinking of the travels of the past two days. Most of the people stealing a voyage on the ship alongside her and Law are young families, young couples; young boys and girls in love and wanting to escape the hellholes that were their homes. Perhaps she should feel some amount of pity for them, but she can't find it in her to. Something akin to admiration to their ambition and bravery comes instead, even though she knows that they will not survive.

 _They must love each other very much to make such a journey_ , she thinks, _even knowing that they may die… How can anyone love someone that much?_

 _Love… what a troublesome thing…_

"Law." She nudges his shoulder with her forehead. He hums in question and Nami asks, tentatively, maybe even timidly, "Have you ever been in love?"

The silence that follows after is oppressive. Neither of them move, but eventually, Law turns to his side to face her. Their breaths mingle, and for a second, Nami feels the urge to shy away, curl in on herself and hide from the golden gaze she knows is on her. The urge is forgotten though, when he answers her just as tentatively, maybe even timidly.

"…yes," he says, his voice barely there in amongst the creaking groaning of the ship. It startles her, because though she asked, Law has never been one to indulge her or reveal the much about himself. "Just once," he says, the breath of his words soft against the wind-burnt skin of her cheeks. He's spoken only three words, but she is riveted to his story.

Nami closes her eyes and tries to envision the kind of woman that would steal the heart of the cold and distant Law she knows. Curiously, her voice now a whisper, she asks, "Was she beautiful?"

"She is," he affirms, and the image in her mind morphs in that of a long haired woman with skin like silk, eyes that shine like stars and long, slender fingers that are as gentle as they are graceful.

"What's she like?" The woman she envisions is gentle and kind, the kind of woman that one would want to call their mother.

He snorts and chuckles a bit before saying very bluntly, "A pain in the ass."

Nami frowns as the image is broken. "Really, Law."

"I'm not lying," he says then moves a bit closer, the mattress squeaking with the movement. Nami scoots back in response, just short of his reach. "She's a real piece of work. Doesn't listen to anybody, makes her own rules and is as stubborn as they come. Not to mention selfish." He pauses. "And bossy."

The woman in her mind transforms into something of a devil, with fiery eyes and a loud, booming voice. "She doesn't sound very nice…"

"She isn't." Law snickers. The sound is so foreign coming from him that Nami backtracks and tries to remember the last time he laughed. She can't though, and simply decides that since it is such a nice sound, she should make him do it more often.

She nudges him again, this time with her hand to his shoulder. "How did you tell her you loved her?"

His answer disappoints her.

"I didn't," he says, his tone candid. He shrugs a bit and Nami frowns again.

"And why not?" she asks a bit petulantly. His story isn't so lovely as she had initially thought it would be; the longer it goes, the more disappointing it becomes.

He shrugs again. "Some things just don't work out."

"But now you'll never know if she loved you back," Nami points out.

"She didn't," he says very simply, and Nami has a passing thought on how he sounds defeated when he says this.

"She…" he begins slowly, as if unsure of what to say. "…She was in love with someone, and I knew I would be second always. I didn't want that. She loved that idiot more than she ever loved anything else. It was almost stupid."

"He was her world." He sounds wistful and Nami feels the first stirrings of sympathy for the man. "And when he died, part of her, died right there with him."

"You talk like you still love her."

He makes a rueful sort of sound before saying, "Sometimes I think I do."

"Where is she now?" She feels like a broken record, asking him all these questions, but Law isn't one who is very inclined to share. She wants to make the most of his mood before he draws away and closes himself in that coldness she knows so well. She wants to know him in the way he seems to know her.

"Far away," he says, his voice distant. She imagines that he is thinking of the woman, and wonders how far is far away.

"Will you ever find her again?"

His hand touches her cheek, and she flinches, startled, but doesn't push him away. Gently, like one would a lover, he sweeps the roughened pad of his thumb under her eye. "Nami," he tells her softly, "you can't find someone who doesn't want to be found."

That night, when Nami sleeps, she dreams of the brilliant sun, the beautiful ocean, and a smile that could put the stars to shame. She dreams of a story, one that is full of youth and ambition and romance of the adventuring kind, a story of a boy who wanted the world and a girl that swore to take him anywhere to get it. She dreams of love. She dreams of beauty. Of things that are no longer in her reach.

And when she wakes the next morning, it is to the taste of her tears. She doesn't know why the dream hurts her so much, just that it does. She wonders, in a far away part of her mind, how someone could ever be so cruel for taking such a beautiful smile away. She wants to see it. Even if it is only for one second. She wants to be happy, just like her dreams, and that truth, only hurts her more.

Because in the end, a dream is just that. A dream.

It can never be anything more.

‡

‡

"Nami," Law says. "It's time to go."

It's morning now, and Law is back to his usual closed self. He has their things packed and the room is just as they found it, barren and cold. She muses on how it feels very much like his company some days.

She stands obediently by the door as he checks the room one last time before following him out into the hall. They climb the steps, many of which, creak ominously when forced to bear their weight.

"Law?" she asks meekly when they step out into the early morning fog.

"What." His figure is tall, shoulder broad and imposing as he spares her a glance.

She presses her lips in a fine line, unsure if she would be overstepping her bounds by asking this, but decides that she might as well. At the worst, Law will ignore her for the rest of the day. He is rarely ever angry. "If I find her for you, will you promise to tell her you loved her once?"

She doesn't know much, not as much as she used to long ago, but she knows enough to know that any woman, any person really, would deserve to know something like that, even if it was in the past.

He doesn't answer at first, only continues forward towards the bow of the ship, and Nami is suddenly afraid that the fleeting closeness she experienced with him just the night before is already lost. Pushing past her own, self imposed boundaries, she reaches to tug on the sleeve of his jacket. He stops and looks at her, though not fully. Just a simple glance over one shoulder. Finally, he sighs.

"I don't think it would matter to her now." He takes her hand in his to pull it away from his sleeve. She doesn't relent.

"You never know," she insists. "She might be waiting for you."

"I'm not the one she's waiting for." He looks almost sad, but Nami takes it as the wash of grey lighting from the sky.

"You love her, yes?" she asks, desperation leaking into her voice. Law nods, albeit slowly. "Then show her that her world can be rebuilt. That you can—no, you will rebuild it with her. That even though he isn't here anymore, you are."

"Promise me." It's more of a demand than a question. She doesn't want the woman that Law had loved and still loves to be lonely, to be without another. She herself, has experienced loss, has watched as the life bled out of the eyes of someone she held dear and knows, that the loneliness which comes after is no small affair. No one deserves that fate. Not even the bossy, selfish and stubborn woman Law adored. She takes his hand, holding it in both of hers and ignores the burning of skin on skin. "Promise that you'll tell her and you won't leave her lonely."

He watches her for a long time, his expression unreadable.

"I promise," he says eventually. Nami releases the breath she was holding in relief. She lets go of his hand and it falls limply to his side.

"Good," she says absently. "That's good."

She thinks of the smile that haunts her in her dreams, and thinks of how much of a hypocrite she is for saying such things to Law. She knows nothing could ever compare to that smile. And if that girl is anything like her, then her world can never be put back together, no matter how many times someone tries.

Some people love too much.

* * *

 _ **I delved pretty deep in the romance in this chapter, but don't expect this too often. Now, with this chapter, you have at least five new pieces to the puzzle that is Nami's past, and a glimpse of Law's intentions.**_

 _ **Reviews, follows or anything from you the readers are loved! Thank you for reading!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE**_ **; Ehh… Looking kinda cheesy at the end there.**

* * *

 **Wait, wait. I want to ask you one thing first before you go.**

How does Nami's current characterization make you feel? Are you annoyed with her or are you angry, or do you like her? What about Law? What are they doing to make you feel that way?


	5. an interlude, one of six

**_Hello again! Welcome back old readers and welcome new readers!_**

 ** _I am genuinely sorry that hadn't updated sooner, but life gets in the way and yeah, what can you do? If you're curious, I was up in Northern California/Southern Oregon visiting relatives and stuck in towns with poor connection to everything. Internet, phone, cable, everything was just sort of...not working?_**

 ** _Anyway, after a lot of scrapping entire chapters and taking away, plus adding more to the plot, I finally got some sort of order on things. Initially planned to post this later, after chapter five to be exact, but meh. Figured that I left you guys hanging for long enough. Don't worry though, chapter five is coming very soon. And I mean, very soon._**

 ** _Welp, I'll leave you to your reading, though it's not much. Be forewarned, things are going to start getting weird. Enjoy!_**

 **Take note that interludes(there will be more) are not chapters. Think of them as...a change...in perspective.**

* * *

 **the _break_ ing point; ****an interlude**

* * *

Does it bother me now as much as it did then? Yes. Should it? No. Then why do I still continue? I don't know.

I don't know.

Lately, that phrase has become one of my staples in a conversation—especially in those that I share with Law. Who taught you how to shoot a rifle? I don't know. Where did you get those scars? I don't know. Why don't you stop scrubbing the goddamn floor and just _fucking listen_ to me for once? I don't know.

I really don't. If I did, I would say so. But I don't. So I say nothing.

There is little I do know. Even then, those few things are beginning to slip from me slowly, and again, _I_ _don't know why_.

Lately, my body, and most notably my hands, have begun to shake uncontrollably. Law says it's because of withdrawal, and when he pinned me with his glare that demanded I explain, I only shrugged. He gives me medicine—a handful of little white pills—to curb the symptoms, though all they really do is make me sleepy. Which I hate. Being sleepy keeps me off my feet. It makes me sluggish. Makes me easy pickings. But when I tell Law these worries, he waves it off without concern and insists that no one is out to get me. Insists that I'm safe with him in the Army base.

Hmph. Shows what he knows. Which is shit, by the way.

There will always be people out to get me. People want my head on a pike, they want me dead and they want me burned. They want me to pay for all that I've done, and honey, feelings like that won't just go away because Law says they will. Little Junior won't stop looking for the blood of his daddy's killer just because she's a wee bit under the weather. If anything, now is the prime time for cold, hard, revenge. Same goes for all those other young'uns that hate my guts.

That Law shouldn't generalize.

But then again neither should I.

People aren't out for my blood, are they? Why would they be? I don't really know. Yeah, Law is right. No one is out to get me. I shouldn't be so worried. Why am I worried…?

Huh. I don't know.

Strange.

Does it bother me now as much as it did then? No. Should it? Yes. Then why do I still continue? I don't know.

I don't know.

I know very little, and as the days go by, that little inkling of knowledge I try so hard to hoard, falls away from me like sand through my fingers.

What I do know well, is that I follow a strict schedule.

I wake every morning at five on the dot. I sleep every night at eight, on the dot.

And every night, at seven on the dot, one hour before eight—three thousand, six hundred seconds exactly before I am to sleep—I sit on my bed, cross my legs, close my eyes and think long and hard. I don't speak, I don't listen. Anything from the outside is gone to me, as it needs to be. When I have found the silence, I push the colorless fog in my mind just a little bit further. Push it to cover just a little bit more.

I do this every night. This I know. This I know well.

No one knows of this schedule. No one knows, and somewhere, in a faraway part of my mind, I know that it has to remain this way. This schedule is all that I have from a time before, a time when I knew things, when I was brilliant and smart, and I know— _I absolutely know_ —that I _cannot stop_. I must continue. I _must_. Or all that I have fought for, have given my life for, will be lost.

And the mornings when I wake, at five on the dot, I know a little less than the day before.

Today, I stare at my plate.

It seems… I've forgotten what I'm supposed to do with food…

Is that bad? Yes. Or maybe no… I don't know.

Law watches me with concern and when all the others have finished their meals and have gone their merry way, he stands from his seat across from me and in two easy strides, is at my side.

"Nami," he asks me, "are you going to eat?"

I look up at him and blink. "I don't know how."

He stares at me for the longest time, before picking up the fork I don't know how to use with trembling fingers.

Many days later, in a white washed room with four walls, no windows and one door, I look at the steaming bowl of soup and ponder on how I will be able to put the liquid inside my mouth. I don't know. I don't know how I will.

And so I ask Law, "Will you feed me today?"

He opens and closes his mouth like he can't quite believe I interrupted him again, then backtracks and turns to stare at the soup before picking up the spoon. He even makes sure to blow on the broth before pushing it into my mouth, something he never cared to do before. How kind of him.

Maybe me almost dying spurred him to have more tact…

Does it bother me now as much as it did then? I don't know. Should it? I don't know. Then why do I still continue? I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't fucking know.

Damn it all.

Why don't I know?

What is left for me to know?

* * *

 **the _break_ ing point; an interlude**

 **one of six.**

* * *

 ** _Before we leave here, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed last chapter, Alena S. Anigor(yay for shipping the same ships!), Sky In pieces(when I finish this story and you begin your translation, there's really only one thing I want, besides credit of course, and that is for you to tell me what others think), Everlight18(on one hand I feel great that I was able to make you feel so much, but on the other I feel terrible for making your sad!), lu-24(thank you! And I have to agree, even though I was trying to be serious, emergency food supply still cracks me up every time), sarge1130(thank you so much for reviewing every chapter, your reviews have so much insight! I love them!), Anopy, Awesome Guest(you really are awesome) and my two guest reviewers!_**

 ** _Sadly, I was only able to reply to about three of you before having to leave on an epic journey to towns with whopping populations of three people, yippee!(In case you didn't notice, I'm being sarcastic)—but I want you to know that I read every review posted. All your theories and ideas are wonderful, and really, all of you readers, silent or not, make me want to squeal from happiness. Again, thank you for leaving your thoughts, it means the world._**


	6. five, gone away

_**Hello again!**_

 _ **I wrote four different versions before I settled with this. I had a hard time trying to fit everything I wanted to happen in this one chapter, such a hard time in fact, that I had to cut this chapter into two and push back the later chapters. Bright side, you get more content in the long run! Down side, there's a shitload of setup and waiting for the action to get into gear! Well, I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Onwards, to chapter five!**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

One year prior to our story, Nami is asked by Sabo to aid in the search for his younger brother, who of which, has been missing for seven years. In present time, Nami learns of Law's lost love and is reminded of her own from a long time past.

* * *

 _ **f**_ **ive |** _ **gone away**_

 _7 months prior…_

Nami grimaces in disgust.

The town is lined with death, the sour sweet scent of it beyond horrid in the grey skied humidity. Dead bodies buzzing with fat black flies, lay in haphazard piles in the streets outside of thatched homes and ruins of what were once Marine owned buildings.

As she passes them by, Nami kicks a soggy stuffed doll out of her way, watching disinterestedly as it lands into a puddle of oily substance. Almost immediately, the toy is run over by the wheels of one of the many corpse collecting carts. Some liquid from the puddle splashes onto the toes of Nami's boots. Her lips curl downwards into a frown.

She wants to leave. She doesn't want to be in this dirty hellhole surrounded by people who haven't bathed since the First Rebellion. Just sharing the air makes her more and more anxious and wanting to scrub the filth from her skin. She wonders why she is here and not hidden away in the haven of her room.

"How long do you plan on staring at your shoes?" The impatient snap of her partner's voice draws her from her thoughts and Nami blinks as she raises her head to look the woman in the eye. When Nami doesn't answer, the woman scowls.

"You better not screw this up for us, you've been watching clouds and daisies all day. We need this to work." The woman frowns. "Sabo's counting on us."

Nami nods without looking at the woman, her gaze elsewhere as she watches people shove corpses haphazardly into the beds of their carts. Her disinterest earns her a click of the tongue. She feels her eyebrow tick, but takes a breath to calm herself. It would do her no good if she were to hurt her partner. With obvious reluctance, she meets the woman's burning gaze with a bland smile.

Nami gestures vaguely, "Lead the way."

The woman, or rather, Nami's partner, turns on her heel to stalk angrily down the street towards the brilliantly lit tavern at the end of the road. After a moment's pause, Nami follows.

Inside, amongst the sweat of unbathed strangers and meaty breath of greasy meals, the reek of death is no less prominent, but Nami shakes both the scent and her ill mood off her shoulders like dust, plasters her best smile on her face, and scans the room for the man she was sent here for. When she finds him, she slinks through the crowd with a whisper of guilt chilling her blood.

The poor man.

Exactly two hours, thirty minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, covered in blood that is not her own and limping on a sprained ankle, Nami slips from the back rooms of the tavern and into the dark alleyway which snakes along the outskirts of the ragged town. She does a quick scan around the area to make sure that no one is watching her before she unzips her ruined jacket and mops the blood from her face and neck. When it appears that this method does more harm than good concerning the blood, she turns her jacket inside out and uses icy water from the gutter to create some semblance of clean.

The chill from the frigid night bites into her bare arms, exposed and unprotected by the simple singlet she wears, but Nami ignores it as she shoves the ruined jacket under a rotting corpse near her. Just as she's about to make her escape into the night, a sound from deeper in the alley startles her.

She peers into the darkness, rooted in her spot as a figure walks into the meager moonlight, one hand outstretched towards her as though she were a feral cat it wished to tame. Inch by inch, the face is pulled from the black velvet of night, skin looking almost blue from the moon and hair an odd shade of tainted blue pink. He wears a simple patterned bandana around his forehead and white-white clothes that are much too out of place with the rotten bodies lining the walls.

She stares stupidly. She almost thinks she's hallucinating—he's so… _clean_.

The urge to touch him—to see if he's real—if he exists—has her fingers twitching up to meet his own. But then he speaks, and she is awoken from her stupor.

"Nami?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes wide.

Her hand falls back to her side, though the hand of the stranger continues to close the distance. His fingertips graze one cheek, darting back as fast as they came, barely—just _barely_ —in time to evade the tip of her blade.

 _That was stupid of you_ , she berates herself, _letting a stranger get so close_.

"Who are you?" She holds the machete out to bring back the distance between their bodies. Her palms slick with nervous sweat and she feels the sudden urge to run—run, run, run and never look back—but she swallows it down. "How do you know my name?"

His eyes dart back and forth from the stained blade of her weapon to her face, unsure of where to settle. After a heated pause, he says with a calm that has Nami's nerves jumping in a red flagged warning, "I am a friend."

He holds both of his hand up beside his head, open and palms facing her.

"I won't hurt you," he says gently. There is a sincerity in his voice, a kind of sincerity that Nami hasn't heard in a long time. Perhaps too long. It drains the fight from her blood and Nami finds that she has to look away from his carbon gaze. His eyes are free from deceit and the innocence in them are so painfully familiar that she cannot bring herself to meet his stare.

 _Don't look at me._

He takes one step forward.

 _Don't touch me._

Nami takes one step back.

 _ **Please.**_

"Nami—" he begins, taking another tentative step towards her only to rear back in shock when Nami presses the blade of her machete-knife to his throat.

"Stay where you are. Don't come any closer," she warns.

His expression morphs into something like concern. For her or for himself, she doesn't know. Nor does she really care.

"Who are you?" she asks again.

A voice from the tavern's backroom's answers for her.

"Vice Admiral Coby!" calls the voice of a boy no older than twelve, "We've found the captain!"

The pink haired stranger turns to the voice, his face placid. "You know what to do," he says with nearly no emotion. Nami turns as well, just in time to see a young boy dressed in a dirty Marine uniform salute the stranger with a ramrod back, impeccable posture, before he disappears back into the tavern. The sight of such a young—innocent—boy venturing into a place echoing with pleasured moans and pained cries intermixed with the dirty wet slap of skin on skin sends a blush of shame and revulsion to Nami's cheeks. When she faces the stranger once more, he is watching her carefully, though no less sincerely.

"You're a vice admiral?" she manages to say accusingly. "Of the Marines?"

"Yes," he says easily, as though the feat to claim such a title is nothing more than the swatting of a pregnant fly.

Nami stares, a mixture of disbelief and oddly enough, betrayal unfurling in her gut. She turns to flee, but before her foot can leave the ground, the Marine has his hands on her shoulders and knee pressed to her thigh as her back collides with the brick wall behind her. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs.

"Let me go," she hisses through gritted teeth, trying but failing to pull out of his grasp. Her hands claw at his wrists, drawing blood and scraping away ribbons of skin. He wrestles with her for a moment, overpowering her easily and locking both her hands over her wrists.

"Just wait a moment, will you?" he implores.

She glares. "You're a Marine."

And more importantly, _a man_ , but she keeps that thought to herself.

"Nami," he says again in that voice, as though she were a feral cat he wished to tame, "I won't hurt you."

She says nothing. Though he must attribute her muteness to stubbornness, Nami is almost embarrassed to admit that it is because of fear. They are alone in the dark. Should she scream, no one would come for her. If he wanted, he could do anything he wanted to her.

 _It's your fault you know. What man wouldn't? Such a pretty face, such a wonderful body, you're what dreams are made of, sweetheart._

Her heart begins to race.

"I-I know that we didn't know each other very well, but I'm begging you, please, remember me." His breathing is uneven as he pulls Nami's escaping hands together by the wrists. He pins her arms above her head, and here is where Nami's flight instinct is rages—telling her to _run, run, run,_ _ **run away**_.

She feels a cold trickle down her back, her mind blanking back and forth from reality to past pictures as she recalls all too well a time when this position—her hands held above—rope—sometimes chains—cutting into the tender skin of her pretty wrists.

He shakes her, and jarringly, she is brought back to the dank alleyway, captured between him and the dirty brick wall.

"My name is Coby. We met in Water 7 at the Galley-La. Don't you remember? Tell me you remember me!"

The innocence in his eyes melts into something wild, something untamed and not quite sane.

"It doesn't matter if you don't remember me, you just have to know this. You just have too—look here, _no one_ is going to walk out of this war alive, _no one_ is going to make it out. People are dying, and it doesn't matter how many, how young, the Marines draft, this isn't going to end. _Ever_." He swallows hard. "Listen, Nami. The Government, they—they _know_ —they're planning to use a weapon against you and your comrades. They're planning to kill _everyone_."

Like she had when she first laid eyes on him, she can only stare stupidly. His words sink in, albeit slowly.

 _Kill, he says, kill, kill, kill._ A voice snarls at her from the back her mind, mocking and petty and vicious. _You're a killer. You're the same. You want that. You want it._

"I can't live with something like that. I can't stand by and do nothing. This—everything—it can all be stopped if we overthrow the Government. Many of us are planning a coup, almost one fourth of the Marines are on our side, but we can't win—and neither can you if it's only us."

 _But you don't care, do you? Because you can. You can live with it just fine. You did it before, didn't you?_

"Seven powers—seven fleets—nearly seven hundred thousand men which will tip the war in our favor are holding back because they only follow the orders of one man."

Finally, she snaps, "What does this have to do with me?"

His eyes are wild. "It has _everything_ to do with you!"

"Nami," he says, his eyes bearing down on her, stripping her naked beneath his gaze. " _Where is your captain?_ "

Nami blinks.

 _Captain_ …

Her mind drifts.

Where is your captain? Where? Wherewherewherewhere—where, oh, where— _where is your captain, now, sweetheart?_

 _Captain_ —her brow wrinkles, but the stranger named Coby doesn't notice, only shakes her more insistently— _my captain?_

She had a captain once.

A very long time ago. A time from before. Before the before, back when she was…was… still beautiful. Yes, back when she was beautiful, pretty, young and untainted—still wanted. Back then, before the before, when she had sailed the seas, there was a man with hair and eyes the color of moss who kept her safe and another who had dark eyes, dark hair, and a smile that could put the stars to shame and who—

 _Didn't want you. Lied to you. Hated you. Spat on you. Left your pretty, pretty self to die while he ran off with better, smarter, prettier friends. That's right, he left you. He left you all alone. Isn't that sad? Doesn't that make you… angry?_

 _No_ , she thinks, _that's not_ —

One moment, she is watching the stranger named Coby ramble and trip over his words like a madman, and next she is enveloped in darkness as she feels the world shift from underneath her feet. She falls—falls, falls, falls, down, down, down in the never ending darkness—and opens her eyes, in what seems like milliseconds later, to a pair of wide, blue-blue eyes and hair the color of caramel taffy.

"You're awake!" Koala exclaims, tension Nami hadn't noticed before draining from her frame.

Nami blinks. She sits and puts her feet to the floor in one smooth motion, ignoring the sway of vertigo that sweeps over her body as she does so. Koala puts her hands to Nami's shoulders, voicing her alarm, but Nami pays her no mind. Instead, she pulls the intravenous needle from her arm and pushes the woman out of her way.

She needs to see Law.

She needs to ask him about the before the before, needs to tell him about the man called Coby, about the war, the children walking into brothels, the Government— _the enemy_ … many things. There is too much to say.

She pulls the white curtain separating her away from the other patients and is immediately disgusted. The sickbay is overflowing, busy as ever. Nurses and the like, half run, half jog between patients, their skin damp with sweat even though the room is ice cold. There is blood on the floor, trailing from a gurney that is left sitting the middle of the makeshift hall of white sheets and curtains. She knows with one look, that the groaning, crying man laying on the abandoned gurney—who is holding the coils of his intestines futilely to his stomach, green bile and dark sludge leaking onto his hands—will not survive.

That must be why he was left there. It would be a waste of supplies in tending to him.

Nami eyes the trail of blood as she passes it by. She would have to come back later to scrub it clean.

"Law!" she calls out over the chitter chatter of voices, orders, crying and screaming, ignoring all of them and the background voice of Koala's worry most of all. "Law!" she tries again.

She sees a head turn towards her, and recognizes him before he can face her. Her eyes are intent on his figure, hand stretched out to meet his held out halfway when someone pulls her back. Nami whirls on them, a scowl in her lips and growl rumbling in her throat. The hand on her shoulder releases her, and the man attached to it rears back, startled.

"The hell do you want?" she snaps at the man.

It's burning. It's as though there is a blistering burn of the strange man's handprint on her shoulder and she brings her hand up to viciously rub the sensation away.

 _Disgusting._

The strange, rude man raises his hands in mock surrender. "Easy. Was just looking to pass a message."

"Later," she barks, turning away from him and back to Law. He is already halfway to her and she takes a step, words on the tip of her tongue, but the man who'd touched her without permission, does so again.

She screams.

Both Koala and Law is at her side in seconds.

"It would be best if you kept your hands to yourself," Koala scolds, quick to interpose herself between Nami and the other man. "Now," she says with a placating tone, "What message did you have to pass along?"

The man rubs his wrist sheepishly. "Sabo wants to see Nami—"

"That's Miss Nami to you," Nami interjects with nothing but snark.

He falters but otherwise does not argue. "Sabo wishes to see Miss Nami as soon as she awakens."

"How convenient, I was just about to make a visit myself. I'll take her there," Koala says easily, ignoring the growing tension as Nami glares balefully at the man.

The man shifts uncomfortably. "That won't be necessary, Sabo wants to see her alone. No one else."

Something dark crosses Koala's face, her bluebell eyes sharpening, but only for a second, and it disappears as quick as it came. "Alone, you say? Ah, well, you best be on your way, then."

When she turns to face Nami, she's nothing but cheer and smiles. "You heard him, Nami. Sabo wants to see you now; he must have something very important to say to you."

"But, I—" Nami looks to Law, but Koala won't have any of it.

"You can tell Law everything you want to later," she says, and all but shoves Nami out of the sickbay, the strange, rude man following clumsily behind. Law looks at her, as though tempted to follow her, but a nurse tugs at his sleeve and his attention is turned elsewhere.

Angry at being both denied and pushed away, Nami huffs to herself as she stumbles to right herself. She straightens her generic shirtdress and before the man can skip away, Nami asks him irritably, "Where are my things?"

"Oh! You mean your swords and weapons and things… They're in there." He points to the room just across the hall of the sickbay and Nami treads towards it. "Though I suggest that you shouldn't retrieve them until later—Miss Nami?"

Nami pushes the door open without difficulty and strides inside with no hesitance. The trinkets, jewelry and whatnot laid on the tables pick at a wanting urge deep inside her, but she squashes it down as she makes a beeline for the familiar shape of her swords and knife. The swords she swings over her shoulders by their strap, and her knife she secures to thigh, like always. Behind her, the idiot of a man tip toes inside the room, barely leaving the open doorway.

"You shouldn't be in here without—"

Nami ignores him. She strides past him, but it seems as though the man if intent on spoiling her mood in every which way. He reaches to touch her— _touch_ _her!_ —again.

"Miss Nami!" He catches her elbow and spins her to face him, only to scramble away from her when she faces him with a knife in her hand, gleaming wickedly and poised with practiced perfection to run across his throat. She pins him to the wall, her eyes hard and unforgiving. Her blade breaks skin, a small bead of red welling up along the edge.

A flick of her wrist and the blade is gone from his tender throat, but the threat laced with bloodlust and contempt does not leave her eyes. "Touch me again, I dare you."

She leaves the bumbling fool outside the threshold of the sickbay and stalks angrily to Sabo's office, her white-knuckled grip never leaving the handle of her knife even as she flies up four flights of stairs. When she arrives at his door, she forces herself to take a deep breath.

 _Calm, Nami. Calm._

The knife finds it way back to it's sheath at her thigh. She rubs away the man's hands from her arms, hard enough that her pale skin turns red and ruddy.

 _Calm._

She breathes in.

 _You're okay._

She breathes out.

"I'm okay," she says to herself.

Once her heart has stopped racing painfully in her chest, she raises on hand up to knock. The response is immediate.

"Enter."

She enters.

Many hours later, at a quarter past five in the early morning, when nearly all the nurses and help are only beginning to rise from bed, she kneels on the cold concrete floor of the sickbay and scrubs the blood away. It stains the hem of her white shirtdress pink, but that is of little importance now.

Wash, wash, wash away, she wills it.

Go away.

She scrubs harder, the wet scrape of her brush echoing in the sickbay, startling loud amongst the soft moans of pain.

"Nami."

She doesn't dare look away from the task at hand.

Wash, wash, wash away, she tells it.

Go away.

"Nami, you said you wanted to tell me something."

Did she? Did she not? She's not sure. What was she supposed to tell him? Yesterday… she had wanted to speak with him. Yes, that's right. She had many things to say—but… But. She doesn't remember what she had wanted to ask…

Her brow furrows.

Harder, harder. The stain will not leave if she works so slowly. Her hair drags in the dirty water and soap, but she ignores it. Scrub, harder and harder still. Law sighs.

"Why don't you stop scrubbing the goddamn floor and just _fucking listen_ to me for once?" he growls as he snatches her hands away from their task.

She stares up at Law, not understanding his anger. All she wants is to clean, all she wants is for the blood to go away. She is doing no wrong. None at all. She is just doing her job! She's just doing what she was told! _Clean the blood_ , he'd said. _Clean up your mess_ , he'd told her. That is what she's doing. So why does Law fault her? Why is he so angry with her? Does he not know what will happen if she doesn't clean up her mess?

Tears prick her eyes.

Why can't he leave her to clean? Why can't he leave her be? She doesn't want to be punished, she's been good, she promises, she's done everything that was asked of her.

 _Look at what you did_ , he says.

"You're bleeding," Law tells her, though the anger in his voice isn't quite gone as he takes the brush out of her hands. She looks down and indeed, her hands are bleeding.

 _Look at the mess you made_ , he says.

 _Clean it up._

Pulling her hands from Law, Nami takes up the brush again and continues to scrub the floor. Wash, wash, wash away. Go away. Don't come back.

Please.

Stay away.

‡

‡

 _Present…_

These days, Nami wakes with ear piercing screams loud enough to wake the dead. On the good days, she will not remember her dreams, but on days like today, she does.

The cocoon of Law's embrace is familiar and inviting to her harebrained senses. She soaks up the heat of his body like a greedy sponge as her hands find purchase in whatever part of him is nearest. He rocks the two of them side to side gently as she sobs nonsense into the skin of his neck. Though his touch burns her—as the touch of man always does—and musky smell of sweat repulses her, she allows him to draw her in closer.

Law is her friend. He means her no harm.

When the worst of her crying has faded, reduced to nothing but a stray sniffle every so often, Law loosens his embrace and places his hands on her shoulders with the intent of pushing her away. She holds fast against his attempt to separate them and resists when he twists to try and meet her gaze. Finally, he sighs and gathers her into his arms once more.

"What did you see, Nami?" he asks in that gentle tone—the one he uses when he wants everything and anything from her.

Nami only shakes her head.

The dream is fading from her mind, but the worst of it remains seared into the back of her eyelids, playing over and over. She doesn't want to speak of it, doesn't want to think of it, just wants it gone and forgotten. Describing such vicious things makes it seem all the more real. It is a dream, a terrible dream, and that is all that Nami wants it to be.

She presses tentative fingers to the skin of her back to trace one of the many puckered lines embedded there. She knows without looking that there are hundreds, if not thousands, of those whipcord thin scars, crisscrossing like a myriad of silver veins hidden under the blue black ink of her tattoos. In the far corner of her mind, where the dark, dirty things lurk, a voice as smooth and sleek as black diesel grease taunts her as it chuckles in salacious warning.

" _You mustn't tell lies…"_

Nami shivers.

A dream…

It is just a dream.

She curls tighter into the protection that Law offers so readily. From what, or rather, _who_ , she hides from, she doesn't know. When she lays back down, she pulls her three swords into her arms, as though they might repel the evil away.

‡

‡

It doesn't make her mood much better, but for breakfast to eat alongside her wretched, bitter and salty 'medicine' and equally wretched ration bar, Law procures a tangerine for her to eat. She finds herself staring at the pitted surface for several long breaths, simply admiring the fruit. Fresh fruit is rare in this time and age, and where Law finds all these to give to her is a complete mystery.

"Are you going to stare at it all day?"

Her head snaps up to meet his amused gaze.

"I could. I might," she admits, stroking one finger across the tangerine's rind. "It reminds me of happy things."

"What kind of things?"

Nami shrugs, "Just happy things."

He doesn't ask her anything else. They sit in silence, Law contemplative and Nami aloof as the sun peeks over the ruins of the once grand city, it's almost golden light piercing the dark of the late dawn and chasing shadows back until they are nothing more. Nami stares in silent awe. It is beautiful, the sun—but then it rises just a tad bit higher, and is hidden behind the thick smog of gray.

How disappointing.

By the time the meager grey tainted sunlight touches her bare toes, weak and brittle through the grimy, stained glass windows, Law stands with his sword in hand. From the corner of her eye, Nami watches him cross the room to stand by the barricade he had made the night before.

She doesn't realize that his intentions until she sees him slipping into his boots.

"Where are you going?" she asks quickly before he can leave without a word. In her haste to stand, she drops her tangerine in the rumpled nest of her blanket.

"I need to check something," he says without looking at her. "Stay here."

A pang of anxiety has Nami's stomach hardening into lead.

" _Alone_? You'll come back, right?" There's that embarrassing leak of desperation in her voice again. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't retract her words.

He gives her a look over his turned shoulder, eyes narrowed in annoyance as though her asking him such a thing is absolutely ludicrous, but does not answer. He doesn't tell her yes or no, and that ambiguous silence only makes her panic spike.

She forces him to face her, her lips pulled downwards in a scowl. Her eyes search his. "You won't leave me will you? You'll come back?"

Law seems mildly surprised. "What gave you that idea? I've been with you all this time haven't I?"

His response makes her angry. She wants to argue with that, to rebuke him and tell him haughtily, righteously so, that even though someone has spent years at your side, they can and will still leave you lonely when you begin to become a burden. It's happened before. She'd been abandoned, half delirious with fever and _left to_ _die_ —

… _What?_

Her eyebrows furrow.

 _Not true_ , she thinks, shaking her head, _that can't be true_.

The lines of her open palm fade in and out of focus, and only when Nami meets Law's stare, does she realize that she'd been staring. The weight of his golden gaze grounds her and when she blinks, the daze falls away as quickly as it came.

"You slipped away for a while there," he says when she only watches him blankly. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was…" She turns her focus to the wall just behind him. It's water stained, and the once seamless blue and white wallpaper peels like old nail polish from the cherry wood paneled walls. Her lips curl in distaste. What kind of idiot would ruin that level of craftsmanship with cheap striped wallpaper? She asks Law this, but he only sighs.

"I don't know Nami. Frankly, I could care less about the fucking walls."

That wasn't very nice of him. Nami frowns.

"Someone went through all the trouble to carving all that wood, at least someone should appreciate it," she reprimands, scowling.

Law puts his hand to his forehead as though to ward away a headache and sighs. Again. She sees him roll his eyes underneath his closed eyelids. "Nami, just stay here."

He turns to leave once more.

"Wait!" She takes his arm, pulling him back by the elbow. "You never answered my question."

Law shakes her grip with a roll of his shoulders. "I think it's quite fair, seeing that you ignored mine and that, like I said earlier, I don't care about the walls."

"Law." She's almost whining. "Tell me you'll come back."

His shoulders tense, then relax.

"Thirty minutes," he says, still turned to the barricade.

"Really?" she asks.

"Yes, really," he agrees easily enough.

She's not satisfied with his answer, and opens her mouth to tell him so, but then he leaves with a zip in the air, gone before she can bid him goodbye, nothing but the receding blue tint of his 'room' left to show that he was ever standing there.

"Don't get hurt," she says to the barricade, even though there is no one to receive her soft warning.

She falls down to her nest of blankets and picks back up her tangerine. As she begins to peel the vibrant skin away, she begins as well, the needless task of counting the seconds until Law will return. Her lips move, but the words are soundless beneath her breath.

 _One_ , she says slowly in the haven of her mind.

‡

‡

 _Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-one_.

Her eyes flick to the grimy window.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-two._

No sign of Law.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-three._

A peek out the dirty windows has her worrying. It's almost noon, that much she can tell by the placement of the sun in the sky. She has been waiting for nearly two hours, and in those two hours, Law has not returned.

Thirty minutes, he'd said.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-five._

She slumps down into her blanket. The worry gnaws and writhes inside her, until she has no choice but to stand and begin pacing.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and twenty-nine._

Should she leave the makeshift shelter to search for him? Or should she stay and wait for his return? Law would be angry at her if she disobeyed, but then again, he could be dead. Or dying. Or worse. Her stomach sinks.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-one._

What should she do?

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-two._

She turns to the barricade. Leave?

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-three._

She turns to the bedrolls. Or stay?

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-four._

"Law you idiot…" she groans and sidles down the wall to sit with her knees drawn to her chin and head in her hands.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-five._

Nami frowns.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-six._

Time is just ticking away…

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-seven. Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-eight._

Slowly, she looks back to the barricade.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and thirty-nine._

She stands.

 _Five thousand, six hundred and forty._

Damn that Law.

‡

‡

Her paranoia isn't helping in the least.

Nervously, Nami shifts the combined weight of her pack and Law's on her back as she dares a peek behind her. No one. Nothing but descending steps. She begins to walk up again, and just the same, the noise picks back up.

Someone is following her.

Or at least, she hopes someone is. If she's lucky, it'll be a someone, not a something. Some little ways away, the pitter patter of little feet and scuttling of rocks echoes from the deep confines of a tower ruin. Nami's eyes dart back and forth between where she thinks the source of the strange noises is and her haphazard path of crumbling stairs in front of her. She can't pinpoint the exact source, and can't distinguish whether the noises are being made by a human or a—she shakes her head to rid the thought.

"No," she tells herself, "don't think about those things."

She turns her attention away from both the little echoes and dark, dirty thoughts. Just the wind. It is just the wind. There are no people here. There is nothing here to hurt her. Nami nods to herself and continues on her way up the stone steps of the bell tower.

The air is crisp, save for the rotten scent of sulfur and sting of chlorine, and lifts the little tendrils of saffron hair that has escaped from her otherwise neat ponytail every so often. If the sky weren't as gray as it is, and the roads weren't littered with dry, cracked bones and broken homes, Nami might have even called it a nice day.

 _Mild weather_ , she thinks to herself as she climbs atop the empty bell stand, scouting the grounds of the ruined city once she reaches the edge of the roof. _No rain today_ …

Nami brings a hand up to her brow to hold her hair from her eyes.

Now where would he go…?

She turns north and sees the blue and white lines of the shore. There would be where she would have gone, had she been in possession of a boat, but Law is neither her nor does he own a means of travel currently.

She turns east, and is surprised to see thin wisp like tendrils of smoke. Her eyes follow the poorly concealed trail down to a squat looking shack built into the ground and leaning heavily against the side of a dilapidated warehouse. From her vantage point, she can see the faraway figures of tottering busybodies, walking back and forth, inside the building and back out. A few are stationary, and only move from the waist up, as though peering cautiously around.

In her chest, her heart begins to race.

Impossible. There are no people here.

She pulls Law's pair of binoculars from his pack and brings them to her eyes.

They… aren't people.

They are hulking, fat, and hideously disfigured—Nami guesses that they are at the very least, twice her size in height and five times her size in weight. Their arms drag on the ground as they move to and fro, gathering stray wood and the like with thick sausage fingers and chipped nails caked with filth. A greasy layer of film coats their sickly pale skin, and it is not until Nami focuses on their faces that she sees them for what they are.

 _Clones_ , she thinks immediately, taking in the cookie cutter faces of rotten teeth and scraggly dark hair.

Her breath quickens. She scoots a little further in a poor attempt to see more.

…No, not clones. They're too slow, too monotone. These are drones. Very similar to clones, but due to times restraints and the haste for battle, these shells were created without the ability to think for themselves. Drones work through a system, all connected to one hive mind that must always remain close by…

A noise behind her has her body freezing terror. She whips her head towards the source of disturbance—a darkened doorway, six o'clock—and hisses, "Who's there?"

Nami drops the binoculars and puts her hand to the handle of her knife. Her eyes search the shadows beyond the doorway, looking, calculating so that when—

Oh.

Her body relaxes and she expels her baited breath.

How silly of her.

A matted tabby cat peeks from the darkness, poking its little head out from the rubble and meows weakly, it's bright amber eyes staring at Nami intently. It's cute, she'll give that. The little runt wears the sad, needy look very well. Though nervous, it is unafraid under Nami's stare, and pads slowly over to where Nami is perched, cautious.

She presents her fingers, which the cat sniffs daintily before allowing her to rub between its ears. When she pulls away, the cat follows and licks at her fingertips earnestly with its sandpaper tongue.

"I don't have anything for you," she tells the cat. She thinks of the ration bars she and Law has eaten for the past five days, but doesn't think the cat would like, let alone be able to digest the hard, dry squares.

The cat meows again, this time softly, as though pleading with her.

"Well… If you help me, I'll help you. How about that?" Nami says justly. "I'm looking for someone. Tall, dark hair, brooding… angst ridden and incredibly self absorbed…" Nami points to the fingers of her left hand. "He has the word death tattooed on both his hands."

The tabby only blinks.

"I see. You don't know." She frowns, though good naturedly. Bringing her hand up to cup her chin, she stands with a thoughtful cock of her head, eyes fixed to the wisps of smoke. "Well, I on the other hand, have an inkling…"

When Nami looks back to the little matted tabby cat, she's smiling. "Shall we?"

And towards the smoke they go. Halfway down the steps of the broken, beaten bell tower, Nami turns to look at the cat trailing behind her with a twinkle in her eye. "Say… You don't happen to know if there's any treasure around here, do you?"

Again, the tabby only blinks.

* * *

 _ **I feel terrible! Anopy, thank you for the review! I left you out in the previous update, but don't worry, I didn't forget you. And hey, it's okay. I think most of us are real life Bepos. But then again, who wouldn't want to be? ;)**_

 _ **Follows, reviews or anything from the readers are well loved! Thank you for reading!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE**_ **; Hmm…Hmmmm…Hm. I don't know how I feel about this chapter.**


	7. six, precious things

_**So, um… This was supposed to be up like two months ago, but… Breath of the Wild happened. Any Zelda fans here? No? Okay, I'll go…**_

 _ **Be warned, for those with weak stomachs, there is mild gore near the end of the chapter. If you want, you can skip the scene by stopping at the line break just after "Don't die." and scroll past the section until the next line break. It's not too bad, but I know some people get a bit uncomfortable.**_

 _ **Anyway, welcome back readers, old and new, and enjoy the latest installment of**_ **the breaking point** _ **.**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

Nami learns of the World Government's plan to eliminate the human population from a Marine named Coby, but is thwarted when she tries to relay the information to Law, and unknowingly forgets the entire encounter with the Marine the next day. In the present time, Law leaves Nami alone in their self made shelter but doesn't return at the time promised. Worried, Nami sets out to find Law, and finds instead a nest of drones inhabiting the otherwise abandoned island.

* * *

 _ **s**_ **ix |** _ **precious things**_

 _Present…_

Her instinct is never wrong.

Crouched behind a torn brick wall, she watches as a trio of rotting drones carry a limp Law away towards their shack. How he was overwhelmed is beyond her. She'd rather not know. She scowls as they cross into the building, disappearing from view. Mentally, she counts all the drones patrolling the area and comes up to a total of fifty. Inside the shack there has to be more…

The odds are not in her favor…

She should leave him. Take his things and… And what? Get on his ship and play off his disappearance? Would they even let her board without him? They wouldn't.

Nami shakes her head. No, she can't leave him behind. She needs him. He's her collateral. Without him, she has no means of travel. She puts her head in her hands and sighs.

She will have to save him.

Slowly, she turns back to face the shack.

… _But how?_

‡

‡

" _You understand right? We're not like them. Their strength is more like a monster's than a human's. They're strong enough to beat anyone with their own raw power. But… the two of us don't have that power. We're normal people."_

Just normal people…

How much of that was ever true?

‡

‡

It's done.

She stares without seeing as she squats beside a sink hole of skeletons. A tuft of dirty bubblegum pink hair sticks stubbornly to the scalp of one in particular. The sight of it's filth caked strands tugs at something deep in the reaches of her mind, but Nami resolutely refuses to allow the picture to surface.

 _A hand claws at her ankle, ragged nails digging rivets into her skin._ _"Don't leave me! Don't leave me here—I'll kill you—I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS—YOU LYING LITTLE WHORE, I WON'T—"_

No. Don't.

 _Stay there, in the dark where I can't see you._

She lets her head fall back, uncaring how her hair catches on the splinters of the old wood walls.

 _Two hundred and seventy-eight_ , she thinks with finality, _two hundred and seventy-eight drones_.

She exhales carefully out of her pursed lips. The humming of the sword has stopped, but her back still burns in memory of the way it sang when the imitation blood had splattered across her face. Tilting her head to the left, she watches Law's limp form where it lays in the corner of the poorly built shack. He hasn't woken. He didn't wake the entire time. He is and was so still.

She hopes he isn't dead.

She crawls to him—since her shaking legs won't support her weight—and shakes him. He doesn't stir.

"Law?" Panic creeps into the edges of her voice, cold coils of it curling around the pit of her leaden stomach. "Law, please wake up."

He doesn't.

 _Calm._

 _Calm, Nami._

 _Look, he's breathing._

She checks, and sure enough, he is. His breath and pulse is steady, though slow against her fingers. The panic slides away like sloughed skin. She slumps in relief against his prone body.

"Oh, thank god," she mutters.

She's almost content to stay there, laying against him like that, savoring his warmth and how his steady, steady heartbeat thuds against her ear, but the incessant whimpers of the kitten pawing at her arm doesn't allow her to enjoy that luxury.

"I should clean up," she says to herself as she looks at the mess of limbs and dismembered torsos littered around her. The kitten meows in agreement.

‡

‡

She half drags, half carries Law to one of the last standing homes where she drops him, none too gently, beside the blackened fireplace like a sack of flour. He makes a strangled sort of noise, but still doesn't wake. Her kitten bats at his slack face in curiosity, jumping back whenever he fidgets under the soft touch.

"He won't hurt you," she tells the kitten. It looks up at her with bright amber eyes, head cocked as though listening intently. "He's very…" She trails off. Kind isn't quite the word for Law. "…honorable…" she settles with an askance glance at him.

The kitten seems to nod at her words—her imagination?—and soon snuggles close to him under the open flap of his dusty black coat. It's a heartfelt sight, and puts a smile on Nami's face.

She leaves to draw water from the rusted pump, relieved when the old thing still worked, and digs a kerchief out of her pack to dampen and wipe the blood from her face. It's startling cold, but clean, and Nami returns back inside the shoddy home to retrieve the kitten. She lifts the edge of Law's coat and coaxes the kitten out.

Contrary to her initial thoughts, the kitten doesn't screech or yowl when she holds it under the cold stream of water, but rather seems to only shiver.

"You're a strange one, aren't you?" she asks as she works a few burs out of its black fur.

By the time Nami has a fire blazing in the old fireplace, the sun is well below the horizon.

She busies herself with laying out her bedroll and rations from her food supply, but every other second her eyes seem to flit back to Law's still sleeping form. Eventually, she finds herself kneeling by his side, watching him for any signs of waking.

Looking at him now strikes an odd desire to hold him close. Seemingly of their own accord, her fingers trail over the contours of his face, down the slope of his proud nose, over the sharp cut of his cheekbones and across his chapped lips, the unshaved stubble on his chin coarse against curious fingertips. His breath warms her fingers, the sensation inappropriately intimate, but Nami can't bring herself to pull away.

She leans closer, locks of red hair slipping off her shoulder to brush against his jaw. Like this, tender and soft, without a scowl marring his handsome face, he looks…

 _So familiar…_

Caught in the image of his sleeping face, she has a moment of unsettling familiarity— _bright yellows as the sunlight filters in from the open window_ — _the gentle rocking of the ocean_ — _Law, younger and softer, as he lays back against silk sheets, lax fingers tangled up in a fistful of tousled copper gold hair_ — _teasing lips curved into a crooked smile_ —and like she'd been burned, Nami swiftly pulls away.

Her nostrils flare and her chest heaves as she struggles to breathe quick enough to keep pace with her racing heart. She stares at her hand, unbelieving that she had just caressed Law's face.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Nami?"

From it's place curled by the fire, the little kitten watches with strangely keen eyes.

‡

‡

Law doesn't open his eyes until many hours later, while Nami is nibbling on a cracker with the kitten purring in her lap.

He blinks up at the patched ceiling several times before groaning.

"Damn," he says, voice low and raspy, "I feel like shit."

Nami places the kitten on the ground in favor of crawling over to Law. She looms over him and puts a hand to his jaw to guide his unfocused gaze to her face. "Where does it hurt?"

He makes an irritated noise when he swats her hand away to struggle in vain to stand. She leans back on her heels, watching with amusement as he fails every time. He probably lacked the strength and dexterity to hold a pencil at this point.

Carefully patient, she asks, "Do you need help?"

The look he gives her is downright nasty, but with how long it takes for his bleary eyes to find her, has her smirking. Eventually he gives up and falls back to the floor with an almost sulky huff.

She pats his shoulder.

He glares.

Without him asking, she props him up against the wall and gives him bits of food to quell his rumbling stomach. He snatches the metal canteen out of her hand when she brings it to him, intent on opening it himself. After two minutes of futile attempts, he hands it back with a dark scowl. Nami twists the cap open easily. If possible, he glares harder.

Once he's as pleasant as he can be, she unpacks his bed roll and helps him onto it, even tucking his blanket around him like a cocoon, much to his dismay. She doesn't have to brave his bad mood for long, however, as he slips almost immediately back into slumber.

The sweet little black kitten tip toes to him, sniffing around before deeming it safe and scampering over to Nami's side. She lays herself down on her own bedroll, her worry gone now that she'd affirmed Law wouldn't die.

She closes her eyes.

With the comfort of Law's steady breathing and the crackling of the fire beside her, she lets her self succumb to the lull of sleep—

There's a strange noise…

Like metal against stone.

It makes Nami's brow furrow.

It's warm here, cuddled between bodies. The sand beneath her bare legs and feet is warm against her skin, and the curly hair of the man holding her tickles the back of her neck with his every exhale. The heartbeat of the man she lies on is steady, strong. Her limbs ache, and as she shifts in the nest of bodies, she realizes that both men are wrapped nearly head to toe in gauze.

She raises her head from it's resting place in the crook of someone's shoulder and her eyes lift to the figure sitting across from her. The ever moving shadows of the firelight illuminate his sternly cut face, his expression blank as he stares fixatedly on his task.

He sits with his legs crossed, bare chested and bootless as he runs the blade of the sword in his hand across a whetstone. The sound grates her nerves, but the warmth of the fire is so tender against her that she can't find it in her to scold the man for doing such a thing when everyone should be sleeping.

As if sensing her stare, he raises his head, his one unscarred eye hazel and amused as it meets her own sable gaze. His hair is green, Nami notices, and the impossible scar running down his sculpted chest looks painful. She wonders if it would still hurt him if she were to touch it.

The golden earrings hanging from his ear tinkle together—oddly delicate, for such a fearsome face—as he cocks his head.

"What's wrong?" he asks with an all knowing smirk that is so much like Law's. "Not going to tell me off for waking you?"

"No," she says as her eyes half lid in tiredness, "I'll let this one slip."

He chuckles and says no more, returning to his task of sharpening his sword. Nami snuggles back into her little nest between her two favorite boys, though her eyes track all of the man's movements. He is practiced and sure, his roughened hands never ceasing as he methodically cleans his katana's blade with a cloth rag and rewraps the hilt in a length of white fabric.

Once he is satisfied, he places the white sword down beside his scarred ankles and reaches behind him to pull out another, though this one is stained with dried, flaking blood.

"What happened to it?" Nami asks, intrigued, as he frowns while inspecting the dirty blade.

"You don't remember?" he asks in question to her question, lowering his brows in what seems to be concern.

Nami shakes her head. "I don't."

He grins and leans towards her, his voice a near growl as he asks, "Want me to remind you?"

Without waiting for her reply, he takes his sword in his left hand and runs the blade across the sun kissed skin of her thigh. She stares at the parted flesh, unblinking and unbreathing as the white of her bone peeks up at her. It is not until her blood has touched the warm, golden sand that she screams.

The man laughs.

It's a strange sound.

Like metal against stone.

‡

‡

Law is suspicious and ever wary when he wakes.

He seems to know that what Nami says is not the entirety of the tale, and without the haze of tranquilizer to dull his mind, he hangs on her words and pierces her with his ever sharp eyes. She is careful to keep her face blank.

They sit in tense silence as they await the arrival of Law's ship and crew at the shoreline riddled with washed up trash.

The sand is warm and grey as she lets it sift through her fingers. Mindlessly, she takes handful after handful and raises her arms to watch the sand fall from her hands. She misses the white sand beaches of her hometown, but the memory of that village—of that life, seems so far away.

" _Nami_ —" red hair, blue eyes, the smell of tobacco, a face she can no longer put a name to, "— _I love you_."

The sand slips from her hand, and under her stare, the lines of her palm and creases of her knuckles fade out of focus.

So far away…

"Stop that." She drops her hand at Law's annoyed snap.

The silence stretches.

Nami fidgets. Law sends glares of death at the innocent sand.

"Why do you stay?" she asks, breaking the awkward silence. She is genuinely curious. Law owes her nothing, and yet… "Why don't you leave me?"

"I'm a terrible person," she admits, watching him for any change in his expression.

He looks at her, piercing her with a stare that makes her want to fold into herself. He doesn't answer her, and Nami sighs as she turns away from his amber stare. Her fingers crawl into the fur of her napping kitten. She bows over her bent knees, cradling her head in the corner of her elbow.

"I'm going to leave you one day," she tells him with no amount of deceit. "And when that day comes, you'll regret keeping me." Over the crook of her elbow, she peers at him with blank eyes. "You'll hate me."

Just like everyone else.

Law sighs. "I don't hate you."

"You will," she insists.

"I won't," he insists.

Nami shakes her head. "If I didn't know you, I would believe that." She turns her glassy eyes away to the sea and before Law can argue, says, "I can see your ship."

Law's retort is forgotten as Bepo—kind, soft Bepo—jumps from the deck of the yellow submarine with a joyful wail and bounds to the shore, arms open wide.

"You should go to him," she tells Law. "He must have missed you."

Though he is half standing, he pauses at the tone of her voice. "And you," he adds with the barest hint of confusion.

Nami smiles, a little weakly, a little sickly and says very simply, "Nobody misses me."

‡

‡

 _6 months prior_ …

"You're hiding something."

Nami gives him a lazy glance over her shoulder.

"I've never lied to you," she says as she tiptoes to pin the billowing white bed sheet to the clothes line.

The almost endless lines of sheets and clothes whip relentlessly in the fierce wind, surrounding them in false walls of white. Her eyes dart around the roof, searching for anyone else besides the two of them. There is no one.

He takes a step closer. She can feel the tips of his hair as the wind whips it towards her.

"I can't read you," he admits, watching— _always watching_ —with those red eyes as she hangs the next sheet over the line. "My cards never lie… _but_ —" He sucks in a breath, panting like a dog.

Her skin prickles.

"You were fated to die seven years ago, and yet, you are here," he says in quiet marvel. With careful, trembling fingers, he brushes against her bare shoulders and down her back, trailing a cool path on the fabric of her sundress. Once he reaches the ends of her waist length hair, he twists a curl around his finger and brings it to his lips. "For someone to have evaded death for so long…"

She stiffens. Whispering, she asks him, "What do you want from me?"

He turns her to face him.

"All your secrets," he confesses quietly as he leans towards her face, his fair hair falling in a cascade of gold around her.

His damp breath, as it scrabbles across her parted lips, is painfully cold.

She shivers.

‡

‡

 _One Year Prior…_

Unlike Law, Sabo asks the right questions.

And also unlike Law, Sabo doesn't know that some battles cannot be won.

He lays out the largest map he owns—inked by her own hands, with what she recognizes as her looping signature at the curling corner—and uses his scarred hands to smooth the paper. He speaks to her, but Nami only half listens, too busy staring at her name in the bottom right corner—wondering, wondering, wondering, when she put it there.

" _Woah, girlie," a hulking figure says to her as he hovers over her shoulder. His hair is blue and his eyes black. "That's your best yet."_

"…a catalyst," Sabo says, brow furrowed and fingers clenched against the centermost mountain on the paper map. Nami tiredly blinks her daze away and focuses on his words as they come from his bitten lips. "If we can over take…"

He goes on. "…stronghold… food and water…" And on. "…steal their most… never mind the…"

After, when everyone he has called has left the room, Nami stands and asks, "And what do I have to do?"

Sabo bites his lower lip. He looks up at her with wide eyes—soft and round, almost childlike—and they are so lovely—so familiar—that it makes Nami want to draw him in her arms and never let him go—never let him leave her, like the last man with eyes like that did.

"Don't die," is what he says.

And many hours later, Nami muses that it's the hardest order he's given her yet.

‡

‡

Something went wrong.

They failed. They were stupid, so stupid. They should have listened to her, should have done what she said, and instead, instead…

Sabo lays limp in a puddle of his own blood on the gritty sand. He doesn't move, doesn't stir, and is so, so still. Somewhere off in the distance, she can hear Koala as she attempts to kill the last vestiges of the enemy.

They should have listened to her.

She puts her hands on Sabo and heaves him over. The noises coming from his mouth are incoherent, and Nami tries not to linger on them too much. He curls into himself, cradling his middle. Fighting his near death grip, she manages to pull him upright.

Things that aren't meant to ever leave the body come slipping out of the slit in his belly. She can see the layers of red muscle and shiny yellow fat in the parted flesh, and can smell the bitter tang of stomach bile. With numb hands, she reaches to pull a stray stone out of his gaping wound.

It shouldn't be there.

Didn't have to be.

They really should have listened to her.

The sound he makes as her fingers curl around the stone has her flinching. She drags it out, but has to dig back inside for the stray shards of glass she'd felt roaming earlier. Eventually, his screams quiet down into whimpers. Nami throws the last piece of glass somewhere into the sand and wipes her hand on the thigh of her ruined pants.

She props Sabo against her chest and unceremoniously packs the slippery cords of his glistening entrails back into his body. Once everything is back inside, she rips the remnants of his bloody shirt from his shoulders and wraps it around the wound. It does no good, though, almost like plastering a band-aid on a bullet hole. The blood seeps steadily from the wound in rhythmic pulses. His heartbeat and breath is so light, so faint, so very shallow.

Nami is suddenly afraid that he might die.

‡

‡

"Sabo. Sabo, you have to stay awake," she warns softly, putting gentle pressure on his cheek and all too afraid to hurt him anymore. Her touch leaves red fingerprints.

 _This is your fault._

In her arms, he groans, eyes fluttering. In the flickering amber firelight that dances over them, his pale lashes look almost red. In the distance, she hears Koala shout a near warcry—barbaric, angry, inhuman.

 _You did this._

She pats Sabo's face more insistently when she sees that he's stopped responding. He weakly moves his head away, but the movement isn't much, barely perceptible.

 _You didn't fight hard enough._

The scars burnt in his skin almost seems to shimmer in the light. The heat of the blazing fire devouring the remnants of the island battles with the frigid chill of the ocean water lapping at her heels.

 _Look at you sweetheart, don't you ever learn from your mistakes?_

"Sabo, Sabo, Sabo—" Koala bursts from the ash canopy that once was a lush forest. She repeats his name, again and again like a maddened mantra. "Sabo!"

Her caramel hair is dyed red with blood in messy splotches, as are her worn leather gloves. The look of utter panic written on her face makes her look ghastly ill.

She races to join them and falls to her knees before Sabo. With shaking hands tainted with blood, she cradles his face and presses her forehead to his own. Her hair leaves red whip like lines where it touches his skin.

Nami turns her head away slightly from the sight. It's too intimate.

"Sabo, Sabo, please say something—tell me you're okay," she demands into his face. The girl is sobbing now, almost hysterical as she shouts for Sabo to speak. "Sabo…"

It's disgusting.

"Koala…" Sabo croaks suddenly, startling Nami and Koala both.

The girl tries to take him from Nami's hold and into her own, and Nami sits back, content to let it happen. It does more harm than good, however, and eventually, Sabo jerks himself away from her frantic touch.

"Koala," he says again, voice hoarse, like he'd swallowed a handful of sand. "You need to get help. Find the ship, or the others—we need to leave."

It strikes Nami as odd that he can still be so eloquent with his body nearly cut in half.

"I won't leave, I won't leave you—I'll stay here, with you," she protests, only to have him shake his head.

"No," he says, breath ragged, "you need to go."

"Nami can go, Nami can find help! I'll stay. I want to stay with you." She shakes her head, still pressed too close.

"She can't. She won't make it by herself."

"No, no, I won't leave you."

"Koala, go. That's an order." There's no room for argument in his voice. Nami's surprised. He's never spoken to Koala that way before.

The blue eyed girl pulls away. Blood flakes away in dry patches on her cheeks and sprinkles the sticky fabric of her red shirt. Just that morning, her shirt had been a sunny bright yellow.

Defeated, she says softly, "Ok." Then, nodding, "Alright."

And when she leaves, Nami looks down at the man in her arms.

"That was a lie," she says, deadpan.

"I know." He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and through the edges of the soaked fabric holding his slit belly together, Nami sees his organs writhe under his expanding diaphragm.

"Why?" she asks, almost choked.

 _Oh, god, the blood just won't stop…_

She can see it seep down into the grains of sand.

"Because, if I die—if not by his side, then at least—at the very least, I want to be with someone who loves my brother as much as I do." The smile on his torn lips is bitter. "It's the closest to family I can get."

Nami doesn't quite understand, but she nods anyway.

"Your brother," she whispers in quiet curiosity, "what was his name?"

His eyes stare at some point far in the distance. "Luffy. His name is Luffy."

"Luffy…" The name slips from her lips like the finest of silks and rolls on her tongue like molten amber.

"What a sweet name," she murmurs, face thrown skyward as tears prick her eyes.

In her arms, Sabo nods once, just once, then goes utterly still.

He doesn't move again.

Nami holds him anyway.

When the medics come, dressed in ruined white with red crosses carved into their shiny steel helmets, Nami tells them dumbly that he needs stitches. They take him away, leaving her to kneel in the stained sand with the ocean lapping at her legs.

A man, a stray medic, the one with the red hair and hat that hides his eyes—Law's friend—her friend, pulls her to her feet. His hands search her, touching here and there, asking where she's hurt, where's she bleeding, but Nami doesn't quite have the strength to push him away.

Numbly, she tells him, "It's not mine."

Then, softer, almost guilty, "It's not mine."

‡

‡

He will live.

The leader of the Revolutionaries will survive.

Though, in her opinion, just barely. He is restrained to only liquids, and is to be tied down at all times to prevent him from aggravating any of his wounds. Sporting a blackened, nearly blinded eye, two shattered ribs, a cut spanning almost his entire horizontal abdomen, a broken femur, kneecap and wrist—Nami thinks it's almost a miracle that he hasn't been rendered a crippled vegetable.

But she's not thinking too much about him.

It's been so long, it seems like, since she's seen Law's face.

She misses him. So much. Too much. More than she should.

She turns over on the rickety cot to stare at the beam of light peeking underneath the closed door. The ocean's waves rock the boat gently side to side, and tucked safely in her private room, she enjoys the the swaying. A pencil laid on a desktop somewhere in the dark rolls back and forth with the ship.

Nami sighs.

She wants to see him.

After the beam of light begins to shift in strange ways due to her staring for too long, Nami sweeps the blankets off and stands.

Perhaps, if she can't sleep, she may as well visit Sabo.

In the infirmary of the steel welded battleship, she finds the familiar sight of the blue eyed girl slumped against the edge of Sabo's bed. Her shoulders move up and down with her slumbering breaths.

Surprisingly, Sabo cracks an eye open to peer at her first. His eyes dart about, unsure of where exactly she is in the shadows, but sure that she is there. She steps forward into the soft light of his bedside lamp, her dancing shadow startling the sleeping girl awake.

"Huh—what?" She turns this way and that, before focusing bleary eyes on Nami. She blinks. "Oh, hello Nami."

Nami offers a smile. It is as fake as she is tired. "Hello."

Koala is a pretty girl, has always been, ever since the day Nami met her, but since the night on the beach, Nami can no longer look at her as such. Though it has long since been washed away, Nami can still see it sometimes, the red shine of drying blood smeared on her face. The image is burned on the back of her eyelids, and no matter what Nami does, it will not leave.

If it had been long ago, before the before, Nami might have flinched, but it is not, it is now, and Nami is careful to keep her face blank of emotion. She's had more than enough practice at seeing bloody faces. The one that looks back at her in the mirror everyday puts Koala's to shame.

"What are you doing here?" the girl asks with a cock of her head.

Nami steps a bit closer, gesturing to Sabo. "I came to see of he was alright."

It's true enough that Nami doesn't feel the sting of a liar's words in her throat.

"Oh." Koala blinks those too blue eyes again, this time rather dumbly in her bemusement.

"Oh," Nami mirrors her with fake amusement.

Sabo breaks his silence. "Koala, leave us."

It's there again. The look of panic on Koala's face. It looks almost foreign without the smattering of blood.

"A-Are you sure?"

Sabo nods. "I need to speak with her for a moment."

If Sabo knew the ways of a woman's mind, he wouldn't have sent her away. Koala gives them both one last look, gaze darting suspiciously between them, before she stands and treads off into the darkness without argument.

"You're terrible," Nami accuses once the girl is out of earshot. Sabo looks confused.

"What do you mean?" he asks ever so innocently. The naiveté of his words make her want to slap him upside the head.

"Never mind," she dismisses with a wave of her hand. She pulls up a visiting chair and slips into it. "I want to ask you something."

Sabo arches a brow. "As do I."

They're both quiet, neither quite willing to speak first.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Sabo speaks first, "Do you really not know who Luffy is?"

"I don't," she says gently, though adamantly, then adds a bit curiously, "Should I?"

His mouth twists into something of a frown, pulling at the butterfly stitches holding a cut on his chin closed.

"I don't know anymore," he admits quietly. With a sigh, he falls back on his pillow. The purpling bruises mottling his face and throat seem almost black as he stares up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I feel like I dreamed it. Like I made the whole thing up in some convoluted way to cope with loneliness." He squints his eyes, as though maybe to ward off tears. "Sometimes it's like they were never here."

"I'm always the one left behind," he says, more to himself than her. He turns to her, dark eyes glassy. "Am I terrible?" he asks timidly. "I forget their faces sometimes." His gaze focuses on her, but not her, as though he is seeing something one thousand miles away through her body.

"…It's been so long," he mumbles.

"What was he like?" At her voice, his attention jolts back, eyes clearing.

"Your brother," she clarifies, "what was he like?"

A little smile tips the corner of his scabbed lips upward.

"Why," he begins with an amused sigh, the kind only used when speaking with great fondness, "he's the greatest pirate to ever sail the seas."

Nami finds her own lips tugging to a small grin. "Sounds ambitious."

Sabo nods sagely. "He is."

"Tell me more."

The smile that lights up Sabo's beaten face as he speaks of his brother makes her stomach warm. He looks so bright, so happy and alive while talking, and all the while, Nami can't help but wonder if this was what he was like, long ago before the war.

"He's gone though," Sabo ends with a frown. "Gone without a trace."

Nami leans a bit closer, close enough to smell the antiseptic and old blood on his skin but far enough that he can't touch her. "You're in luck then," she says.

His gaze snaps to her, questioning.

"Finding precious things is my specialty." She smiles, and this time there is no fakeness, only the faintest wisps of contrition that dear wounded Sabo does not see. "So get better, alright? We'll do it together."

His eyes fill with something wonderful then, and its sheer brilliance makes her want to cry.

She's such a terrible, terrible person.

She stays, per his request, until he falls back into fitful slumber, murmuring names and curses under his sleeping breath. He flinches every now and then, eyebrows pinched as he faces imaginary enemies inside the realm of his dreams. She watches him, legs crossed over one another, arms folded under her bust.

"Don't you know?" she asks him, so quiet that her words dissipate in the stale air before reaching his ears. "You're falling right into my palm."

His head turns slightly towards her, and she starts in her chair, fearful that he may have heard her, but sighs in relief when he only continues to sleep. He looks so young, so small, wrapped up in all those layers of gauze and plasters.

Her heart throbs in her chest.

 _If you die_ , she thinks as she reaches to tuck a stray strand of greasy blond hair behind his ear, _Law will too_.

 _And that—_

His eyelids flutter, head lolling into her palm.

— _cannot happen._

‡

‡

The scowl on his face seems so out of place sometimes.

But it is always there, everyday without fail.

Today, it holds fast to his tight mouth as he barks things here and there to passing orderlies and nurses. The lightest bit of grey peppers his dark hair, and almost purpled circles line heavier than usual under his vibrant yellow eyes. He looks so worn that Nami almost doesn't recognize him.

She follows him to his office, stopping just outside. She wants to talk to him, but doesn't quite know what to say.

His shoulders are tense.

She has the sudden urge to hold him.

"You should rest," he tells her gruffly, turning his head to peer at her.

She's not sure if it's an order out of annoyance or out of genuine concern. It's hard to pin his mood, and his refusal to look at her does nothing to help. Nami shifts nervously in the doorway for a moment, and after concluding that he won't throw her out, slides into the room. Though she would like the privacy of a closed door, she keeps it open.

Just in case. Always in case.

"As should you," she says as gentle as she can. If possible, his shoulders slump further.

He shakes his head. "I can't."

She sees it sometimes, in the blurred colors of her dreams and daytime dazes. Sees it among white sand beaches and turquoise waters and endless horizons. His smile, the little upturned curve of his lips, sometimes crooked, sometimes taunting, but always lazy, always dimpled. Always so, so sweet, there, and ready just for her.

But here, now, there is no such smile.

She wants to see it. But it is a selfish want. Law has nothing to smile for anymore. It's not her place to ask for something so sacred.

She raises her hand to touch him, though in her meekness, only manages to brush the very tips of her fingers against the rough stubble on his cheek.

"Where has my handsome Law gone?" The words tumble out of her mouth like bitter honey, sad yet sweet, laced with so much want and regret that it surprises her.

He looks at her then, something tragic and lonely filling his eyes. There's so much yet so little in that one look, and seeing it like this, as it dulls the vividness of his gaze and sombers his expression, his brows heavy and lips parted, makes her inexplicably, irrevocably, sad.

She wants so much to take it away, but—like with many things these days—simply doesn't know how to.

 _I miss you,_ she wants to say _, more than you know._

But instead, she lowers her hand, turns, and walks away.

She doesn't look back.

He doesn't stop her.

That this is what they are, bothers her more than she'd care to admit.

* * *

 _ **If you're getting confused and frustrated with Nami's back and forth inconsistency, then you're exactly where you supposed to be.**_

 _ **I'm sorry to say to everyone who's asking/asked, but the Straw Hats (in present time at least) won't be showing up until much, much later, if at all. Oh, and the cat is now black. I know I said it was orange in the last chapter, but… it's black now. For reasons. And as a little tidbit to tickle your minds, remember that one of Zoro's swords—which Nami carries everywhere with her—is cursed. A terrible death will befall the owner, or so we are told…**_

 _ **For the guest that asked what the main pairings will be—it's Law x Nami. LawNa. Eventually… They're working on it guys.**_

 _ **Once again, thank you, for all the support.**_

 _ **SELF NOTE**_ **; Slowly but surely.**


	8. seven, yesterday there were no secrets

_**HELLO READERS!**_

 _ **Finally, we'll be getting some answers, but just a tiny bit of them. This chapter is very dialogue heavy, probably the most informative of all seven chapters too (and most unedited). Get ready to see Nami's nasty side start to come out. Law's not the only one with a mean streak. And read carefully, those little details might just come in handy later one. Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

Nami and Law finally meet up with Law's crew after many days of travel. In the past, Nami slowly gains Sabo's trust, just as she'd planned.

* * *

 _ **s**_ **even |** _ **yesterday, there were no secrets**_

 _Six Months Prior…_

Blood is a strange thing.

It's not quite liquid, not quite solid. It's slippery, like oil, but thin, like water, and it paints your skin like melted lipstick. When it dries, it flakes away in layers, like cheap nail polish.

It's so very strange.

And when you try to scrub it from your skin, it stains. Not the color, no, it's easy to wash the red away, but the smell—the metallic, salty scent of blood stains every little rivet in your hands and every little crease of your body. It crusts under your fingernails like blackened maggots and stiffens your hair…

And even after Nami has bathed three times over and burned her ruined clothes, the smell lingers, everlasting as if to say; you can fool them, but you can't fool yourself.

So she scrubs, and scrubs, and scrubs. Washes and washes and washes it away.

The water that swirls down the drain is a whirlpool of pink.

She pares off the tips of her nails, ridding herself of the blackened crusts, and brushes her hair under water until all the dried slivers of the damned red has sloughed away. It's almost mocking, how her hair is almost as red as the blood.

It's put her into a bad mood, the constant bathing.

It just won't wash away.

‡

‡

She is in the crematoriums shoveling naked corpses into the blazing oven when Law finds her. Though he stands just behind her, she ignores him and focuses on the pile of blue and pasty flesh laying in the corner. The base has long ago abandoned organization in favor of efficiency. She tosses up to eight bodies before Law sighs. Loudly.

"Nami." He sounds angrier than normal. Much angrier. "Stop."

"What's wrong?" she asks though she doesn't halt.

"You know exactly what's wrong."

She stops. Pulls off her dirty gloves and turns to look at him.

"What's," she asks, "wrong?"

He stands so very still, his entire body taut with tension as he speaks. She realizes then that he's not angry. He's scared. Whether for her or of her, she's not sure. All she's sure about is that she doesn't want him feel either one. And that the only way to do that, is to go back, and never do it. But it's too late to go back.

You can't ever go back.

There is no going back.

This is what she is.

So Nami tells the complete truth, to him and only to him.

"Yes," she says.

And like that, he stills.

His breath stops.

He goes very quiet.

The oven crackles loudly behind them, the light painting his skin red.

 _Like blood…_

And then, he looks away, and takes a step back, and turns.

"Nami," he says tonelessly, "tonight when Sabo calls for you, you are to turn him down."

"Okay," she acquiesces, voice quiet, "alright."

He leaves. She does not follow.

She better than to.

That night, when the strange, rude man comes knocking at her door, Nami does not answer.

She does exactly as she was told. She does not visit Sabo again.

Alone in the tower that he calls his quarters, the poor, poor leader slowly starts to lose his carefully crafted composure as he searches for a lost brother—a lost hope—that exists solely in history. Alone in her haven that is her room, Nami muses on how easy it is to unravel what has already been undone.

‡

‡

The way the blue eyed girl hangs around Law, like a moth flocking to an open flame, irks her like nothing else.

The girl clings to him, bruised, beaten, ugly fingers always trying to find somewhere to touch on him. His sleeves, his arms, his back. And the way she looks at him—oh, the way she looks at him, god, does the girl have no shame?—with those wide child eyes that want, desire, fantasize—such disgustingly innocent eyes with such a disgustingly lustful gaze—it makes Nami almost physically ill.

Nami won't stand for it. She will not allow it. No one will cling to Law like that.

So when she discovers that the blue eyed girl wanders the halls just outside of his bedroom in the evenings, Nami makes damn sure that every night from then on, Law is in her company. The blue eyed girl cannot have his company without having hers.

And the blue eyed girl wilts, though, just barely.

It is not enough.

So when she discovers that the blue eyed girl comes looking for him in the sickbay during mealtimes, Nami strong arms Law into sharing meals with her, alone in his cluttered office. The blue eyed girl is naïve, but not daft.

And she wilts, enough that her eyes darken.

But it is still not enough.

She taunts the girl with the bluebell eyes with elaborate shows of Law's fidelity and favoritism. She picks at the girl's flaws, flaunting her own beauty and unmarred hands with every double edged pleasantry. She is ever cruel, wearing down harder and harder until the girl is but an insecure shell of herself. No longer is she the bright and overconfident woman who once stood basking in Sabo's adoration.

No. Never again.

Nami will tear her paper world apart piece by piece until there is nothing left. Such is the punishment, for one who wants what belongs to Nami.

The blue eyed girl is assaulted with rapid whispers of blatant disgust when she walks alone, damning eyes of blame burning holes into the back of her head. The children are hesitant to be in her presence, always tip toeing back as though she is something to be feared. The woman sneer with painted mouths behind their calloused hands. The men toss looks of contempt and ill concealed amusement.

And it is all done with words and words alone—carefully construed poetry that fell from Nami's pretty pouting lips in passing. Pretty lips, but ugly words.

Here, Nami's word—is law. A simple but grand power, one that is gifted to those who are idolized, and here, Nami is a hero. Here, she is their savior, and they all know it.

The blue eyed girl wilts until she resembles the walking dead.

And Nami loves every minute of it.

" _Did you hear? She's the one who responsible. She's the reason we're starving in this sorry excuse of a—"_

Though…

" _She's been fucking the captains, I heard. No wonder Sabo's dropped her. Like throwing a hotdog down a hallway—"_

Though, sometimes…

" _She left her squads to die, just left them! Abandoned them to die in that hell hole! You can't trust her, she's insane, she's obsessed—"_

Sometimes, for the barest hints of a moment, inklings of pity seep into her skin and curl around her heart, making it throb in empathy. The softness of her, buried deep past the lurking beasts of her memory, still untouched by reality, aches for the blue eyed girl.

For just as easily, Nami could have been her. Once upon a time, Nami _had_ been her. A lonely girl, abandoned, in favor of something better.

 _Poor girl_ , she thinks sometimes, _the man of your dreams has left you behind_.

But then she sees how the girl tries to latch onto her Law, and the pity dissolves into gut wrenching annoyance.

 _Stupid girl_ , she thinks then, _he's not yours to have_.

In the end, she feigns indifference and greets the blue eyed girl as she would any other day.

"Good morning, Koala," she says, her voice layered with razors and honey.

Though, unlike any other day, the girl pierces her with a blaming glare.

"Good morning, Nami," she spits through clenched teeth and turns away.

A lesson well learned, Nami supposes. She shrugs and continues walking down the concrete hall.

 _You can't have both_ , she reprimands tauntingly in her mind, a smile playing at her lips, _you silly, silly girl_.

Her smile turns crooked.

 _But I can_.

‡

‡

 _Present…_

Nami puts her pen to the paper.

 _Breathe in_.

The ink drops from the tip of the quill, staining the parchment.

 _Breathe out_.

She dabs the ink away as best she can, flips the paper, re dips her pen, and puts it once again, to the paper.

 _Breathe in_.

The ink drops.

 _Breathe out_.

She puts her pen down. Stares.

Save for the quickly spreading dot of free flowing ink, the paper is pristinely, mockingly, blank.

Nami muses on how it's very much like her mind these days.

Empty.

Sighing, and feeling inexplicably lonely, she caps her ink, dries off her quill pen and rolls away the stained parchment.

Perhaps she will try again tomorrow.

Yes, that seems good.

She always has tomorrow.

 _How long will you keep lying to yourself?_

Nami starts, head whipping left to right, but there is no one in the room with her. There is only her bed, a bolted desk, and metal chair. Four walls, one window, and one door. All steel. No people. She is alone.

 _Oh, sweetheart_ , the oily voice croons in her ears, _you're never alone_.

Then, darker, menacing, _You will never be rid of me_.

Nami falls to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. The shape of the three swords strapped to her back digs into her spine as her breath quickens. Her hearts races so madly that her chest aches from the repetitive thudding.

She knows that voice.

 _Shut up_ , she commands it, _you're not real, you're dead_.

 _Oh? And whatever gave you that idea?_

Her head throbs like a million needles have been pierced into her skull.

 _Because I killed you. Because I_ _ **killed**_ _you!_

The stained parchment tears in her hands as she clenches her fists.

 _Killed me? Have you really?_

 _You're dead,_ she repeats _._

It laughs.

 _You're dead,_ she prays, hopes, begs _._

And it laughs.

 _I killed you, I killed you, I killed you—_ and it plays, over and over again as she forces it to replay like a mantra _, you're dead, you're dead, youredeadyouredeadyouredeadyouredead—YOU DIED—I KILLED YOU—I KILLED YOU—_ _ **STAY AWAY FROM ME**_ _—_

And it laughs.

It's a strange sound, really.

Like metal against stone.

Too late does she realize that she is screaming bloody murder into the night and that Law is pounding on her bedroom door.

‡

‡

Nami is brushing the matted tangles from her kitten's midnight fur when they find her, half hidden in the charting room. They don't seem to be bothered by her episode just that night, as though they've seen it before. She's not sure if she should be relieved or concerned.

"Oh!" exclaims one the men with the hat that covers his eyes. "You found him?"

"Good thing, we all thought he was a goner," says the other with the hat, though this one's hat is green and pink. He squats down to rub the kitten's ear affectionately.

She stares at the two, her face twisted in a frown as she takes in their faces and attire. One has the text Penguin written across the forehead of his hat, his uniform hanging like a trash bag off his slim body, and the other has a shock of bright orange hair under his equally bright hat.

Nami knows she should know their names, with how they speak so familiarly with her, but no matter how hard she tries, nothing comes to mind. So instead of greeting them, she asks, "What do you mean?"

"Your cat," the one with the penguin hat explains. "You lost him when we had to flee the base and cried for three days afterwards, remember?"

She looks down at the purring kitten, suddenly apprehensive, because, no, she doesn't remember. She draws her hands away.

There is no such memory. She recalls no such thing.

The kitten looks to her with it's vivid yellow eyes, and Nami is disturbed for the first time by the humanness of it's intelligent gaze. It puts its small paw to the back of her hand, as though to console her.

As though she is the one who shouldn't exist.

‡

‡

"Are you sure?" Nami asks as she follows Law's lead through the wreckage of a once quaint village.

Brick foundations and rotten antebellum style homes lay wasting away. Suspiciously neon liquid lay in copious piles where the barren grounds dips. Nami guesses that island was once filled with rolling fields of grass and wildflowers, and that the people who lived here are all dead. Unsurprising, really. Most islands these days all have fallen into similar decay.

"Yes, I'm sure," Law replies as he dodges a low hanging support beam. It sticks straight out of a ruined home, grimy with some kind of grease. Nami passes under it with ease.

"There's no one here."

"Just wait a bit."

"I've been waiting," she quips, only to have Law send her an annoyed glance. She smiles. He huffs and turns back to the path.

It's not until they've almost reached the completely blackened forest, that Nami sees it, eerily untouched by time and decay.

The house is small, but well made, with candy blue stucco walls and white wood trim. Smoke puffs softly out of the brick chimney, and yellow daises grow limply in flower boxes beneath the white shuttered windows. It looks, to say the least, like a fairytale candy shop.

Nami is immediately suspicious, but Law simply waltzes up to the home, completely fearless, leaving her to scramble after him. They climb onto the little home's porch, Nami cautious and Law nonchalant. As Law swings the door open, the tinkling of a shop bell can be heard.

"I'll be right there," calls an elderly voice from deeper in the home.

She surveys the room, taking in the utter normalcy of the place. The white tiled kitchen sits tucked in one corner, a turquoise pot bubbling with a meaty stew on the stove and checkered tea towels tossed onto the counter. Before them, is a floral couch with a knitted cream blanket thrown over the arm. A spotless white rug lays on the waxed wood floor, just inches from the brick fireplace.

It's so normal, it's wrong.

"We're going to die," Nami states grimly, stepping closer to Law so that she can clutch his arm. "We're going to die and the old lady who lives in this house is going to eat us."

"No, Nami, we're not," Law says, but she can tell that he is just as disturbed.

"Yes, we are. Just look at the place. It's like Hansel and Gretel, but the only difference between us and them is that you didn't leave a trail of bread crumbs."

"There's more than one difference, we're not brother and sister, and it was red string that they used."

"It was bread crumbs, Law. You wouldn't know."

"It was string, and I would know. I've studied more than you."

"That's dirty, just because I didn't go to school when I was—oh, never mind that! Crumbs, Law, it was crumbs! That's why they lost the trail, because birds ate the—wait, _did_ you leave trail?"

"…"

"Law!"

"What?"

"How will we find our way back?! This is it, we're going to die. I should have stayed with the others. We're going to die and it's all your fault."

"Why's it always my fault?"

"Because you had the crazy idea to come here!"

"It's not crazy, lots of people came here before us."

"And how many of them actually left? That's the important question."

"…"

" _Exactly my point_."

"We're not going to die."

"Just look at that oven, Law. Look at it. It could fit a horse."

"…So she has a big fucking oven. So what. Maybe she's an adventurous cook, maybe she, was a—um, a pie… maker… or… something… That…That's a really big oven…"

"See? See?! She's going eat us! And you just walked us right into her trap!"

"Well you chose to follow me!"

"Because you were all like, 'Trust me Nami, I always trust you' and fucking guilt tripped me until I gave up and came with you!"

"Quit making me out to be the bad guy!"

"You're doing a real shitty job at being anything else."

"Okay, she has a really, really big oven, and her house looks brand new with fucking daises growing everywhere—but does that really mean she's going to eat us? Maybe we'll be lucky, maybe she'll just give us candy or some shit like that—"

"Really Law? Really? Give us candy? You know what, yeah, she will. She'll give us candy and then we'll get so fat that we can't walk, then she'll murder us and then she'll eat us."

"Dammit, Nami! Stop blaming me for this! If we die it's every bit your fault too, not just mine!"

"I _specifically_ told you before leaving that we need—"

"Even if I wanted to, I don't think I can murder and eat you two with the way I am now."

Nami and Law both jump.

An elderly woman hobbles into the main room, a pair of oversized glasses sliding down her nose and patches of white hair missing from her scalp. Her eyes are bloodshot behind the thick lenses, and crawling purple lines crawl up one side of her face. Nami follows the lines down her neck and to her left arm, silently gasping when she sees that it's completely black. All her fingers are attached, though the thumb hangs on only by a thread. Her eyes go lower, and she sees that the old woman's feet are the same.

The old woman laughs. "It's not contagious, I swear." She smiles warmly at them. "What can I do for your two travelers?"

Nami pushes Law forward, much to his dismay. After sending her a quick glare, he clears his throat and says, "We're looking to trade."

"Oh?" she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose to get a better look at them both. "And who's asking?"

"Trafalgar Law."

The pleasant look on her face falls immediately.

"The traitor himself, huh? Never thought I'd see that day," she murmurs with a curl of distaste on her thin lips. Her eyes flit to Nami then back to Law. "Gotta add cradle robber to your list of deeds. You're as rotten as they come, aren't you? How much you buy her for, huh?"

"Buy me?" Nami exclaims, both horrified and confused. "No, that's not—"

"Oh, you shush that act of yours. I bet he told you to say that, didn't he? I'm old, not stupid, and I know exactly what it means when a young girl like yourself is seen running around with a geezer like him," she spits, seemingly to Nami, though her gaze doesn't stray from Law. "How old is she, you piece of scum? Sixteen? Fifteen? Half your age and yet you have the gall to waltz around like she's some kind of arm candy—how much did you buy her for? Seven figures? Eight? Or maybe ten? Men like you aren't ever satisfied—"

"I'm twenty-eight years old, ma'am," Nami is quick to interpose, the rapid darkening of Law's face unsettling her. "I'm only a few years younger than him, really."

"Bullshit!" cries the old woman. "If that face is twenty-eight years old then take cover now, cause pigs are falling from the sky. There's no way in hell—" She cuts off abruptly at the pressure of Law's sword against her throat.

Nami flinches. She hadn't seen him move.

"We're here to trade, either you trade with us, or I take all you've got by force and leave you to die like the lonely bitch you are," he growls, eyes locked with hers.

The old woman swallows. Nami sees her knees begin to shake under her muslin skirt.

"Alright," she whispers after what seems like an eternity. "Okay, I'll trade."

His blade falls away.

"W-What do you need?" she stammers as she fidgets with her glasses.

"Water," he says, "food and oil."

"And what do I get in return?" she asks.

Law pulls out a slim package from his coat pocket and slides it across the counter, snatching it back when the old woman tries to touch it.

"Morphine," he says easily, a knowing look in his eye.

The old woman eyes widen in open wonder.

"Wait here," she says.

And Nami can only stare as the old woman brings in ten gallons of bottled clean water and a container of army packaged rations to trade for one miniscule vial of medicine. When the deal is done and over, the old woman scowls.

"Don't think you're forgiven in my eyes, traitor."

"I wasn't asking to be."

"Good, because no one will do so, even if you did."

Law's face is impassive, but his jaw tightens, just enough for Nami to know that he is bothered.

"Let's go," and with that, he leads Nami back out into the wasteland.

The old woman spits on the ground behind them.

‡

‡

Nami blinks up at the dark ceiling.

Sleep runs from her like sheep from wolves. Sleep doesn't want to stay with her. But that's okay, she supposes, not many want to stay with her these days.

She stands from her cot and ambles over to the door. She decides then that she will have a stroll. Maybe even go find where Law has gone, or maybe spend the rest of the night with Bepo. She doesn't want to be alone. Alone is when bad things happen.

She is wandering the halls when she happens upon their merry little meeting.

The door is left ajar, the trailing shadows of their angry figures dancing against the darkness of the hall, their voices not far behind—as though the people arguing inside the room have little fear of spies amongst them. They have so much trust, Nami almost feels pity for them. Such naivety will get them killed, and there are so little of them left after all…

She presses her temple to the wall just beside the half open door and listens.

They speak in hushed, quick snaps.

"They're falling apart," says one, fearful and tense.

"One hundred in two weeks, twice that amount in three," says another.

When the next voice speaks, she recognizes the tenor immediately. Roughly, Law demands, "Where are they running to? Why?"

She starts when something soft brushes against her ankles, but sighs in relief when she looks down to see her kitten blinking up at her. She takes him in her arms, relishing in his softness and warmth before turning her attention back to the conversation at hand. Cuddled in her embrace, her sweet kitten purrs.

A hushed hiss explains first, "I think we all know the answer. No one wants to follow an unstable leader, and after the chaos that broke out at the main base? No one trusts that he can provide safety."

"Even before then, things weren't right," another voice pops in, shaky with anxiety, "People were disappearing, all our strongest— _gone_ , just like that. Kid, Hawkins, Apo, Bonney and Violet…"

"Sabo didn't even look into the disappearances. It had to have been him, no one else could have—"

"It couldn't have been him, the coot was always so obsessed with finding his brother, he wouldn't have had the—"

"Then who? Who would do it then?"

"Like I was saying the other day—there was a spy in the ranks, chances are, he's still out there, just waiting for—"

"There can't be spies. Violet made sure of it. Everyone who joined the Army had their minds probed before—"

"And? Who's to say that the traitor didn't defect until after joining? The only possible reason for all the murders—don't even look at me like that Shachi, what, you think the culprit took them on a magic carpet ride to paradise?" A snarl, then, "The victims all had two things in common, they were all devil fruit users and they were all our best soldiers. Do you know who also fits that criteria? Our captain, that's who. We cannot go back—"

"And we cannot defect. We would starve out there, or worse—"

"Or what? I never knew you were so scared of drones."

"One on one, they're fodder, but what if we come by a hive? What then? We can't fend off that many. We'll be overwhelmed, and almost every other island out there is crawling with them—it's not safe! We have to go back!"

"Going back would mean sending our captain to his death!"

"You don't know that! All you have are baseless accusations—"

" _Enough._ " Law breaks the frantic stream of words. They quiet obediently and listen in silence as Law reiterates, "Where? Where are the defectors going?"

A shifting of feet, then, "There's an unnamed faction in the North, they're taking every and anyone who can stand on two feet."

"Unnamed faction?"

"Yes. A militia of about 80,000 men and women, not including the defectors from the Revolutionary Army." A pause. "Nearly all of them are devil fruit users."

"They have _walls_ , Captain. Food, land… They're _surviving_. And us…"

Law cuts in sharply, "Sabo had walls, he had food, land, people, power—and look where that got him. We can't join whatever side that can provide for us. We need the side that won't lose."

"…So far they've overtaken four Government posts in the north in the timespan of only two months. And Sabo? Not even one."

"We'll go down with the Revolutionaries if we stay."

"Besides, they've been running us dry and dragging you through the dirt Captain."

"Enough," Law says again, "…just, enough. That's it for today."

And with that, the crew quiets and files out of the room neatly. Nami steps back into the dark, away from view as she watches all seven of them drag their feet to their beds.

"The unnamed faction is the only way to go," whispers one.

"But the unnamed faction is a wild card," whispers another.

Nami blinks.

"Unnamed faction?" Nami repeats to herself.

Something clicks—clicks together in a terrible, terrible way. The dark dirty things in her mind shift restlessly, whispering, begging—

 _Remember,_ it says to her _, you need to remember_ —

But Nami shakes the whispers away.

She speaks just as Law is exiting the room, "You can't join the unnamed faction."

He starts at the sound of her voice, whipping around to find her in the dark. She steps from the shadows, fists clenched.

His eyes are bright as they flash to her. "Nami, go back to bed."

The tired gentleness of his voice catches her off guard. Just as gently, she tells him, "I can't."

"Why?" he asks, suddenly three times taller as he takes a step towards her.

 _Because you aren't there_ , she thinks, but refuses to back down and says instead, "You can't join them."

"Why?" he repeats, unwavering. He takes another step, then another. The scuffed leather of his boots brush the tips of Nami's bare toes. She takes her own step back, only to have him advance once more, this time closer enough that Nami can smell the spice of rum on his heated breath. His eyes are luminescent, bright pools of golden honey that strip her bare under their intent gaze. "Answer the question, Nami. Why?"

Nami only stares.

Why indeed.

She has no idea why, and he knows it. The bastard knows everything about her. It's maddening.

What does she know these days?

Her sudden insecurity has her lashing out in anger, "You would defect from the Army? You would leave Sabo? Betray him, even after all he's done for you?"

"I owe him nothing."

"He saved your life! He saved you from your execution. He put himself on the line for you! And this," she shoves him back with a palm to his chest, "is how you repay him? Don't say you don't owe him, it's a filthy lie and you know it."

"How do you know about that?" He catches her hand and holds it there against him. The heat of his palm sears her skin, in a way that is as pleasant as it is unbearable.

Nami wrenches herself from his grasp. "Unlike you, Sabo doesn't keep secrets from me."

Those golden eyes of his alight with sudden uncharacteristic anger as he leans inappropriately close to hiss, "I don't need this, especially from you. If you want to talk about secrets, then tell me about all your late night visits. Explain all the disappearances, all the sneaking—you've never explained yourself, why should I?"

Nami pushes him back as she snaps, "If anyone should be throwing accusations on secrets, it should be me! The lies, the drugs, the hallucinogenics—you're the one who should be explaining."

Something like guilt melts his anger, though it is gone as quick as it came. "Lies? You want to talk about lies? You want to talk about secrets? Then talk about your SAD poisoning, your shady fucking past—"

"I've never lied to you, Law. You've just never asked the right questions."

Law throws his hands up in the air with pure frustration. "And what exactly are the right questions? Am I going to have to fuck you like the rest of your cronies to know? I ask you questions, you don't answer them, the problem here is you."

Her face flushes scarlet. "The problem here is that you want to leave Sabo!"

He takes hold of her wrist and shakes her with barely restrained rage. "Why should I stay? Why should I work under a mentally unstable lunatic who can't tell right from left anymore? Why's he so important to you, huh?"

Nami clutches his sleeve to steady herself and snaps so fast that her words are nearly slurred, "Why's he not to you? He's our leader."

"I follow no one's orders." His eyes harden, and he makes to pull away, but Nami holds fast.

"And that's exactly what will get you killed in this world. If not for you, then do it for your crew. You won't survive without Sabo behind you, and that I swear."

He raises his voice for the first time today, "Don't tell me how to run my crew!"

Her ears ring from the volume, but it doesn't stop her from shouting just as loudly. "Then do it right for once! You're steering them to their death!"

"I'm not!" he grits through clenched teeth.

"You are, and you know it," she bites out as she struggles to keep Law from walking away. He tears himself from her hold and turns sharply to leave, but Nami follows close behind, hot on his heels as he strides quickly to his room. "You cannot, Law! I won't let you!"

He turns to glare at her as he spits harshly, "You can't just decide what I'm going to do and how I'm going to do it, Nami. I'm not going to do what you say just because you want me to—"

Nami cuts in just as harshly, "You're acting like I'm trying to make you jump through hoops—I'm _not_ doing that—I'm trying to help you survive this."

He stops midstride, turning so quickly that Nami runs straight into his chest. He pushes her away to meet her gaze. "Then explain why it's so important for me to stay with Sabo. Tell me one good reason why I should."

She feels that insecurity of not knowing envelop her again. Frustrated at both herself and Law, she explodes with words that she is quickly coming to find too familiar. "I don't know why!"

Law's fingers dig painfully into her shoulders. "That's exactly my point— _you don't know_."

Angry heat rushes into her face as she shoves him away, "If you want to go kill yourself so much, then fine! Do what you want! See if I care anymore!"

When she closes her bedroom door behind her, she makes sure to slam it shut.

‡

‡

Nami finds Law in his personal library late the next morning. She's tempted to apologize, but still wants to simmer in her annoyance for a while longer.

"Where are we going?" she asks as he flips through a textbook. She looks at the cover curiously, purposely ignoring the words she can't read. It's a picture of a child, curled protectively around himself, knees pulled to his chest.

He raises a brow, though doesn't meet her gaze. "So you care now?"

Nami crosses her arms under her bust and waits until he answer.

"To Sabo," he says finally, pushing the book back into the shelf.

" _Where_ , Law?" she asks again.

"Where else?" Law turns to leave, his voice trailing behind as he disappears into the hall. "The frontlines, Sabaody Archipelago."

She watches the empty doorway long after he has gone, drawing her arms up to wrap around her waist.

"Sabaody," she murmurs to herself, "Sabaody Archipelago."

She turns her gaze to the window to stare as the ocean passes them by, and for a reason she can't name, feels a cold chill trickle down her back.

‡

‡

The boom of cannon fire rocks the entire ship.

From the kitchen cabinets, cups clatter down to the floor where they shatter on impact, a rain of dishes falling atop a cursing crew member and unbolted chairs topple over. Another shock ripples through the water and nearly capsizes the submarine, though, with how the ship was designed, capsizing wouldn't be much of an issue. The cannon fire isn't what's worrying Nami right now though.

She stumbles onto the deck, throwing open the heavy metal door with a careless shove. Immediately, the salt of the sea rushes up her nose and into her lungs, the familiar scent tainted with gunpowder and smoke. The island grove is still a way's away, but the ships surrounding it are interlocked in a fierce battle, one that Nami imagines is just as fierce as the one on land.

Face thrown skyward, her eyes take in the grey sky, the clouds perfectly smooth—too smooth. The air is stiff against her skin, a sense of unnatural wrongness rippling right under it and raising her hairs. Bepo is quick to join her side, rambling about needing to get to cover, but Nami silences him with a single finger up in the air.

"Hush. You feel that?" Her eyes don't leave the sky. A low rumbling from the too smooth clouds sends panic streaking through her veins, hot and sharp.

A flicker of light, then—

"Get inside!" She turns and shoves them both back into the submarine, the door shutting behind them with a heavy thud. Just in time, as a boom much louder than the previous cannon fire rings just beyond the door.

All the lights simultaneously shut off—some bulbs shattering—voices cry out in alarm as the ship's engine stalls and the a few curses are thrown as heavy footsteps scramble to do something. Bepo stiffens against Nami's shoulder, and even though it is now pitch black in the hall, she knows that there is panic written across his teddy bear face.

Nami takes his arm and leads him through the dark towards where she knows Law will be, glass crunching under her steps every other step. She finds him surrounded by five candles and and two other crew members—the two with the hats over their eyes. Bepo takes a spot beside the two, leaving Nami and Law to face each other from each end of the table.

"What the hell was that?" His eyes are wide, though the expression on his face is schooled calm.

The lights flicker back on and the engine restarts, though the brightness is not quite as strong as before. Sirens wail, protesting the imbalanced pressure inside the ship, and only after they quiet does Nami answer.

"A rainless storm. It's artificial." Her eyes meet Bepo's as she speaks. "Man made. That's why you couldn't sense what it is."

Bepo's face drops in alarm, and Law's eyes grows just a bit wider.

"Do you intend on entering that grove?" Nami asks, putting a hand to the cool metal of the table to support her weight as she leans on one leg. The lights flicker unsteadily, as though the engine and generator is fighting to keep them on.

Law's gaze sharpens and he leans closer to mirror her pose. "You already know the answer to that. You wanted this, didn't you?"

Nami drops her gaze.

She did.

She turns towards the three in the corner, voice booming with familiar authority, "The ship stays underwater, the water will absorb the shocks and disperse the electricity. We can't take chances sailing and anchoring the ship somewhere above it. When we arrive, leave everything metal behind. One member will stay behind to make sure that the ship stays underwater. While on the island, and you feel anything, and I mean anything, hair rising, skin tingling—you drop to the ground, you hear me?"

She nods to the doorway. "Relay that to your comrades, we dock at dawn."

And with that, they rush off to do as she told.

Law gives her a look, one that tells Nami he's confused as to whether he should be amused or angry before saying, "Since when did I give you permission to order my crew around?"

Nami shrugs. "Never. It's just what comes when you have me around."

"I don't like you controlling me, Nami," he says.

She reaches over to smooth the wrinkles in his collar. He is tense under her touch, though doesn't pull away.

"I don't like you hurt, Law," she says.

He says nothing to that, eyes fixed pointedly to the floor, and Nami takes his stubborn silence as her cue to leave.

The door of her bedroom shuts quietly behind her.

‡

‡

When she opens her eyes, it is to rows upon rows of books, and the steady, almost robotic sound of a nail being hammered into old wood. One nail—she blinks up at the vaulted ceiling—two nails—she turns on the glass tile floor where she lays—three nails—and she sees that she is not alone.

A woman with long dark hair the color of frostbitten toes sits by a long table, and across the room is a hulking beast of a man with close cropped electric blue hair. The man works busily by the door, a much too small hammer in his much too large hands and a mouthful of rusted nails as he nails the only door shut. The boards in his massive hands are weathered and weak, splintering with each strike of the nail.

"Oh," exclaims a soft voice. The woman with the black silk hair puts a marker in between the pages of her book and drums her slender fingers over the cover, seemingly anxious. She puts her chin in the palm of her hand as she regards Nami. "It's nice to see you haven't died yet. You were asleep for a very long time. We couldn't wake you."

Nami looks from the woman to the man still toiling away at the door. "Where am I?"

"I was hoping you knew." The woman sighs and shakes her head. Looking rather agitated, she takes the book in her lap and places it on the tabletop with more force than necessary. "It seems as though we're lost."

The hulking man stands, and begins to nail the windows shut with the same, dry, weathered boards.

"Lost?" Nami echoes, her brow furrowing in confusion. "How can we be lost?"

One nail, two nails, three nails. Cracking of dry wood. Hollow echo of the next plank being placed. One nail, two nails, three nails.

"Again," the woman says, "I was hoping that you would tell us."

The man with the blue hair speaks next, startling Nami.

"The ocean is a dangerous place," he says simply. He stands and puts his massive hands on his hips, examining his work with a decisive nod of his head. "That should do it."

"Are you sure it'll hold?" the woman asks, looking at the boarded windows and door, poorly concealed concern making her pretty mouth curve down into a frown.

"Have a little faith in me, will ya? Of course it'll hold!" he exclaims as he turns to flash a blinding grin. Nami flinches at the brightness of his teeth. His dark eyes slowly stray to her, worry rampant in his stare. "Are you alright girlie? You gave us all a scare."

"I'm fine," Nami says, puzzled by the worry both the strangers have concerning her. They look at her, both with unreadable eyes and tight mouths.

When it's apparent that the strangers are content to uncomfortably stare at her without speaking, Nami stands and slowly pads around the circular room, curling her bare toes into the cold tile every so often. She tries to ignore how the two in the room follow her every move with their eyes.

She stops in front of the only door in the room, watching curiously as blood seeps from beneath the frame. It pools on the glass tile, viscous and alive, in a glossy sheen of red that reflects her face back at her. The wood of the door is as splintered and old as the planks holding it shut—and just faintly, if she concentrates hard enough, she can hear the barest hint of noise from the other side. It sounds like a baby's cry, weak and needy. And even fainter, is the musical hum of a happy young man.

" _Hmmm hmm hmm_ ," comes from the other side of the door, quiet and hushed, as though rocking the crying child with a lullaby, " _…Going to deliver…Bink's sake_ …"

Her breath stutters.

She knows that voice.

" _Following the sea breeze… Riding on the waves…"_

She puts her hand to the knob stained with smudged red fingerprints, only for it to be sharply snatched away.

The woman with the black silk hair shakes her head as she holds fast to Nami's hand.

"Don't open it," she says softly in warning. "You're not ready."

The woman pulls Nami away by the hand and guides her to a chair. The hulking man joins her side, putting one of those larger than life hands on her slender shoulder. They both look at her, their eyes as sad as they are dark.

"What—" Nami begins, stammering under the unwavering stare, "What's on the other side?"

The woman slides into her own chair and folds her hands neatly in her lap, quiet for a long, stagnant moment. She doesn't speak until after the hulking man has once again put his hand on her shoulder.

With a small, polite smile, the woman says wistfully, "Yesterday."

And when Nami wakes, it is to a colorless ceiling and to the steady pulse of a submarine's sonar. She puts a hand to her thundering heart and wonders with a bleary mind, what yesterday is.

As she steadies her breath, she becomes suddenly aware and horror stricken at the sight of the strange, tall figure sleeping on the other half of her bed. Her body moves on it's own accord, terror seizing her senses and making her clumsier than she should be. She jumps from the bed and scrambles away to the darkest corner of the room.

Her flight from the bed rouses the stranger, and it looks side to side, hands reaching for the empty sheets still warm from her body. Slowly, it turns to face her, hand outstretched. In the single, lonely strip of dim moonlight which floods from the porthole window, she can see the word death branded on the backs of its reaching fingers.

"Nami?" The stranger calls to her, voice soft and muddled with sleep.

She tucks herself closer into the shadows and away from that searching hand.

Warily—viscously— _fearfully_ —she asks the stranger, "Who are you?"

* * *

 _ **We're taking flight!**_

 **Hachibukai—Your username is so adorable! Thank you, I'm glad I was able to open a new world for you! ^^ Aren't we all jealous that we don't have our own Laws to take care of us? He's very good to Nami, even though she thinks he's pretty scummy at times. And regarding your theory… hmmm, you never know… Law is pretty dark and he does keep his fair amount of secrets… ;)**

 **sarge1130—WHY ARE YOUR THEORIES SO CLOSE?! It's like you're peering right into my head sometimes! And yes, what you said was correct, and a very good point. The Law that Nami seems to remember and the Law that Nami knows now are different. And your welcome~ I should be thanking you, really, your reviews always are so insightful and motivating! :D**

 **A—Thank you and your welcome! I'm glad you like my writing and I'm flattered that my fic is one of your favorites! :) I hope you enjoy what's to come~**

 **Anopy—Yes, the Kitetsu is a very morbid sword, glad you noticed! Oh, shoot, you caught me! Well, if you're referring to the movie Memento, that is. The movie inspired part of this, and you'll see more and more similarities the further we progress into the story. Yes, Bepo is here! Bepo is love. Bepo is life. ;D I was going to include more of him, but I cut his scenes in this chapter. We'll get to see more of him later on though. And thank you, I'm glad you like the slow-burn-esque build** **or should I say rebuild, hint hint, wink wink** **of Law and Nami's relationship~**

 **Chococatmarsh—Here you go~**

 **Peepachu—All very sad, but all very good! Though one is pretty spot on—can't say which though! ;) And yes, I hope Nami gets better too.**

 _ **Thank you all for all your support! Reviews, faves and follows are all loved!**_

 _ **SELF NOTE**_ **; Well, that was long. And messy. Should come back to revise in the future…**


	9. eight, far beyond us

_**Hello Readers,**_

 _ **Thank you so much for all your support!**_

 _ **So sorry for the lateness of this chapter, but I've been incredibly busy these last few months. To make up for the lateness, I've made this chapter a little longer. Enjoy!**_

 **From this chapter onwards, the portions which take place in the past will no longer be marked by how long ago they occurred. All 'past' scenes will be written in italics to represent the time jump. Remember, past scenes only occur before the first chapter, never after.**

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

Nami and Law share a heated argument after she overhears their meeting. She refuses to allow Law to join the unnamed faction, claiming that his allegiance to Sabo is the only thing keeping him alive. Later, Law decides to stay with the Revolutionary forces, though begrudgingly. They prepare to enter the island of Sabaody Archipelago, though, that night, Nami has an eerie dream which leads to her to her current predicament.

* * *

 _ **e**_ **ight |** _ **far beyond us**_

"Who are you?"

The stranger stiffens.

There's a pause, the reaching fingers still and curl before retreating back into the darkness. She hears a breath catch, and counts, one, two, three, and then the stranger is on their feet. She flinches, but for naught, because the stranger simply crosses the room in three purposeful strides to switch on the light. The sudden brightness of the overhead light is blinding, but the vivid color of the stranger's eyes as he stares down at her is a brightness that burns her to the very core. They burn—his eyes. He takes her shoulders in his hands, his too warm hands searing her skin.

"Nami," he says, his breathing heavy even though he has done nothing but squat down beside her, "say my name."

She sits frozen, held captive by his stare and his hold on her. Her mouth refuses to open, sealed shut—she has no answer for this stranger. The silence between them stretches, but how can she say a name she has yet to know? Her silence is more than enough of an answer for the stranger, and after the third minute passes with no words from her lips, he lets her go, stands, and turns to leave out the door.

She stays sitting stupidly on the floor for a few good moments, the throbbing in her head almost unbearable and the racing of her heart uncomfortable. Deep steadying breath clam her heart, but the faint throbbing cannot be willed away. Putting a hand to her forehead, she forces herself to focus.

Where is she?

Who is she?

Who was that man?

Why is she here?

Four questions—a simplification of the matter at hand. If she can answer those, she can eventually answer more. For now, the first question is the only one she can answer.

With a swivel of her head, she surveys the room. Four walls, one window, a bed, a table and a chair. No decoration. All stainless steel against a white tiled floor and white bed sheets. On shaking legs, she stands and turns to the one door. There's a small slit of glass inserted on the side of the metal door, a window that is half the length of her pinky. She peers out of it, but there is nothing but darkness beyond the door. When she puts her hand to the knob, her heart plummets to her stomach.

It's locked.

She tests it again, twisting and turning the slim metal knob, but no matter what she does, it will not give. Even as she shakes the door and jigs it, the door stays perfectly in place. Panic beads on her skin, the cold sweat sticking her long hair to the back of her neck. She swipes it away and pulls the mess of red waves over her shoulder to keep it from tangling.

 _Keep calm_ , she reminds herself, _panicking won't help you at all_.

First question: where is she? In a room. Where is the room located? She walks to the porthole in the opposite wall and peers outside. Blackness all around, every so often something almost pearlescent rushes by the glass, but other than that, she cannot see anything more.

 _Underwater_ , she muses, _I must be in the sea… on a submarine?_

It makes sense. She can hear the pulse of a sonar from somewhere beyond her locked door.

She searches the desk next, looking for clues of any kind, but comes up empty. There is nothing scraps of paper and dried up inkpots in the drawers. Under the bed, she finds a small cardboard box, but inside the box is only another set of clothes and a slightly worn dress.

There's nothing here.

Though there is ink in the desk, there is no quill nor is there a pen. Even the jars are plastic, not glass. No mirrors, nothing sharp. There are no other shoes, nothing with laces or with heels, only a single pair of plush slippers. On her body, she wears a single night shift. The bed is bolted to the ground, as is the table and chair, but that is reasonable, seeing as she is currently residing in a ship, but—

 _There is nothing here_.

Almost as if—

As if…

She falls onto the bed, her hair so long that it hangs off the side of the mattress.

…it was all taken away.

 _Like my memory_ , she thinks darkly.

‡

‡

 _The flicker of the candlelight washes his elven face in alternating shades of soft amber and deep honey. His pales lashes are long, incredibly so, and each time he blinks, she grows more and more intrigued as to why they don't tangle. Her gaze follows the shadow of his lashes to where they caress the tops of his cheekbones, over the bridge of his nose, down the pointed tip and to the curve of his lips. His gloved hand reaches up from the paper he'd been fingering and rubs at his chin._

 _As she watches him, she twirls her pen, chin in hand, elbows atop the table. Here, alone with him in his study with it's lonely bare walls, empty fireplace and dirty fur rug, she ponders about him…_

 _His motives…_

 _His drive…_

 _His will…_

 _She ponders—the end of her pen dancing round and round—on how she will be able to take them all away._

 _The thoughts that follow leave a bitter taste in her mouth._

 _She sighs, caught between vindictive resentment and controlled empathy as she leans back in her chair, head lolling back to survey the vaulted stone ceiling. The old map set out before them crinkles at the edges as her fingers graze it._

 _Sabo would be handsome—if it weren't for that hideous scar over his eye. He knows it too, seeing as he is always careful to part his hair over it, however even with the curtain of gold feathering at the red raised skin, she finds that it is the same. Ugly. But, sometimes, on some rare occasions, she's not so sure it's the scar that repulses her, but the flaxen quality of his gold spun hair._

 _Huh._

 _Is that what this is? Is that what keeps her from choosing the lesser of the two evils? His deformity? His ugliness? The color of his hair?_

… _Is she so biased?_

 _Beside her on his old cobalt arm chair, Sabo shifts and looks up at her with those wide black eyes of his. Her fingers twitch—out of anticipation or fear, she doesn't quite know why—but she turns her head to meet his gaze nevertheless._

" _Is something the matter?" he asks her, concern tipping his gentlemanly mouth down into a frown._

Yes _, she thinks, but says, "Nothing." She gives him a well practiced smile and waves her hand dismissively. "Nothing at all." Gesturing back to the pile on top of his mahogany desk, she sits up properly. "Let's continue."_

 _The smile he gives her is genuine and sloppy, a bit of teeth and gum and nothing but happiness._

Don't look at me like that _._

 _She smiles back._

" _Would you like some more tea?" She lifts the steadily cooling teapot from her side. Her heart beats madly as he slides his empty cup towards her with a sheepish grin._

" _Yes, thank you."_

 _Her fingers tremble, but he doesn't notice. There are many things that passes his notice these days. How Law is increasingly passive to his good humor, how his bluebell of a girl is nothing but a waste of skin, how his own people are starting to look at him strangely… As she'd said, many things._

 _She fills his cup, her stare fixated on the pale liquid as it washes down into the bottom. As she tips the pot in her hand back, a single drop falls to disturb the serenity of the still water. There is a small, almost microscopic shred of a tea leaf in the cup, but Sabo pays it no mind._

 _He takes his cup, and as she watches carefully, ever so carefully—drinks it. Every last drop goes down his throat, and with each swallow, her heart beats just a little bit faster._

 _It won't matter in the end, she realizes. Neither road she takes in this fork will allow Sabo's happiness to come to fruition._

 _Her wonderful, handsome dear Law has made sure of it._

‡

‡

An odd trio opens her locked door in the morning, greeting her with nothing but smiles and cheer. The bear in the trio holds a tray with food that he promptly sets on the only desk in the room. The other two totter in behind the bear, their hats quirky and unique. The bear tries to get her to eat, but she has no appetite. The square of mystery meat sitting a pile of quickly congealing grease doesn't stir her hunger one bit… neither does the cup of black… stuff.

And though she only watches them warily from her seat on the corner of the bed, they chat to her.

Friends, they tell her.

They are friends.

She has never seen these people before, has not a single memory of their faces in her mind, but with the way they speak to her and they way they act, it is as though she has lived ten lifetimes over again with them at her side. They are so very earnest, nothing but cheer and optimism, but she's not sure what to believe. The tall white bear looks at her with sweetly placed concern, but no matter how long she listens to their chatter, no memory of them comes forth.

"We've been together for quite a while," says the man called Shachi. The man called Penguin nods vehemently, each nod paced in time with his friend's words, his lips spread into a shaking smile.

She purses her own lips and says nothing. They continue on, taking everything she gives them in stride and she only half listens, however, because something else has caught her eye.

The single porthole window in her bedroom encapsulates a world in its sliver ringed boundary and she stares, as she looks looks, she sees that the sky outside looks cookie cutter bad, copy and pasted wrinkled—as though someone had ripped the eyes out of a dead fish and placed them inside the hollow skull of a deer. The sky, like many things she has seen today, is utterly, inexplicably, _wrong_.

"…and, well, he's just like that sometimes. Try not to take it to heart, he really doesn't mean it." And there they prattle on, Shachi and Penguin and the white bear.

She swallows the saliva pooling in her mouth, eyes fixated on the world outside the window and has one morbid thought as they pull on her hand and lead her to god knows where.

 _You're going to die._

Her eyes swim lazily back to the trio.

 _All of you._

‡

‡

 _The depravity of savage folk like pirates never ceases to amaze her. Money, alcohol and glorified toys are the main topics and especially with the men, sex. It seems to her, at least, that in this base everyone is fucking everyone and everybody knows about every single dirty deed dine behind closed doors…_

 _Barbarians, the lot of them._

 _If she were to set fire to them, she wonders, would they catch immediately like the trash they are?_

 _Darkly, that thought is much more appealing than it should be._

 _But then again, weeding out the bad folk is just nature running it's course. No one would bat an eyelash if the weeding just so happened to come a bit prematurely._

" _Hey."_

… _Right?_

" _ **Hey**_ _."_

 _She nearly jumps out of her seat, startled to the point of breathlessness. The sounds of the busy cafeteria flood her senses, a whirlwind of people chatting and silverware clinking. Slowly, the smell of baked potatoes and fried meat fills her nose, alongside the scent of pirates—sweat and unwashed clothes. As she comes back to herself, the grain of the wooden table beneath her elbows fade into focus under her gaze. Her left leg is numb from being crossed over the right, and her hand aches from holding up her chin._

… _How long was she sitting here?_

" _Um, miss…are you—"_

" _Do you need something?" It's hard trying to hide the irritation from her voice, so she doesn't do it. She lifts her chin from where it rests in her palm and turns to look at the speaker hovering behind her._

 _It's that strange rude man. Kiefer, if she remembers his name correctly._

" _Sabo's looking for you," Kiefer says, fidgeting imperceptibly under her stare._

 _He has freckles, she notices belatedly, that smatter over his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. And his eyes are mismatch, one blue, the other green. A scar runs over the lips of his wide mouth, starting from his pointed chin and disappearing into the curling edges of his faded brown hair. His freckles—freckles! Why freckles? Where has she seen those before? A little oddly, she has the sudden urge to rip them off, and she wonders, idly, what he would look like if she were to take her knife and—_

" _Miss!" he calls more insistently, hand raised as though to touch her._

 _She blinks—once, twice, unsteady as she clears her vision. Kiefer looks at her with concern in his mismatch eyes._

 _It pisses her off._

 _His face. His freckles. His concern. All of him._

 _Who does he think he is, getting worried for her?_

 _She pushes his hand out of the air and all but snarls, "Tell him I'll be there."_

" _Yes ma'am." The smile he gives her is shaky and anxious._

 _She wants so much to smack it right off his stupid face—so she does just that. The idiotic fool goes back towards Sabo's office nursing a bloody nose and busted lip. She's hardly satisfied though; her mood is completely soured for the rest of the day. With more flair than necessary, she stands and angrily stalks through the base to look for people to scold to take the edge off her mood._

 _Damned barbarians._

 _The world would be better without them polluting it._

‡

‡

His name is Trafalgar Law, and he commands his seven-man crew aboard his yellow submarine. He is stubborn, tactless, blunt and stoic. He is not old, but yet he is not young. He is attractive, handsome even, but takes little care of his appearance. He is, supposedly, the last great doctor to walk this earth. And he cannot, under no circumstances, swim.

This is what little information she gathers on her pseudo captor from her observations and from what was told to her.

Law, the gifted doctor who sleeps beside her as though he is her lover, leads the way. While she, the woman who knows nothing besides her own name, lags behind the rest of the group, unsure.

Here—wherever here is—the hallways are lined with handmade sputtering torches, bulging roots and gritty wet earth, uneven mud slicking on the bottom of her boots as she trudges forward. It's dark—enclosed. There is no way out except back, and back means back to the fields of slaughter outside where the smoke of cannon fire is as heavy as the burden of the unfamiliar swords strapped to her back. They weaved through the carnage through sheer luck alone—that and the gift of Law's powers that she has yet to understand completely.

She lifts her gaze from the floor to watch the backs of the group. They're strong, these people. The doctor has powers, the bear can fight and the men are smart. They're not ordinary pirates. She realizes then, with belated horror, that if they wanted, these strangers could capture her and kill her, right here, right now. The revelation has her stilling in her steps.

A cannon landing somewhere aboveground dislodges a rock from the ceiling that falls neatly by the toes of her scuffed boots.

From the head of the group, Law looks back over his shoulder at her, the hilt of his sword hiding his mouth. She can see nothing of his face, only the piercing gold of his eyes.

"Keep up and don't fall behind," he commands her, beckoning with a single jerk of his head.

Her only answer to him is to stare blankly until he turns back to the front.

Is it too late? Can she outrun these people? Can she trust them? This morning—no, she can't. What she awoke to today could have been well planned. This could all be a charade. A plot, a ploy, all to—

Something far behind her in the hallway skitters on small legs, the echo of it's bony steps chilling her blood. She turns around, eyes straining in the darkness as she searches for the source of the sound.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Heaving a deep breath, she braces herself and follows Law's group deeper into the tunnels.

Even if she wanted to, she cannot go back.

She'd die.

‡

‡

 _Sometimes, the corpse ovens cannot turn on anymore. Sometimes it's because there's no more good fuel, and sometimes it's because some wall collapsed inside. When that happens—when the walls fall into themselves from the heat—a trio of men will venture into the ovens and rebuild the walls by hand. Sometimes they don't come out for days, sleeping and eating inside with no company but each other and the unburned limbs of the dead. Sometimes, they don't come out at all._

 _The dead carry illnesses, after all._

 _Today, of all days, unfortunately and inconveniently, the ovens will not be in commission._

 _Oh, how it angers her._

 _Look at them—making her do extra work._

 _So, on this wretchedly inconsolably regretful day, she decides to plant flowers in a soon to be garden behind the barn in the base's left courtyard—if it can even be called that. To plant the flowers, she digs holes, big holes, holes deep enough that she can stand in it and not be able to see over the edge. Once the hole is dug, she adds some fertilizer, a pair of long legs, two arms, a few stray fingers, the naked torso, and the slightly rotted head complete with a long mane of silky chocolate hair whose curls tangle in her fingers. Then, once she's dropped in all that trash that's been stinking up her room, she sprinkles the seeds, and buries them far, far underground. A little water, and it's golden._

 _Brushing the dirt off her shorts, she heaves a tired breath._

 _There._

 _What a pretty garden it will be._

‡

‡

The room at the end of the tunnel is barely able to fit the mass of people that have crammed themselves inside. Long twisting roots line the walls and curl up towards the ceiling. They weave across the ground through the sprawl of human bodies which lay huddled together for warmth. Few torches are lit, flickering and faint, the meager light barely able to pierce the darkness, though, for good reason. If any more torches were lit, they would die of asphyxiation. The air is stale and weak here, riddled with the scent of grime and urine. Already, there is a pile of unmoving bodies which lay in the corner. The wounded sit away from the torch light, half hidden in the shadows as they nurse their wounds.

This, she comes to understand, is the retreat base of the Revolutionaries.

It is nothing more than a filthy pit of half dead men.

Her lips curl in revulsion. A man retreats back from one of the huddles and treks into a darkened corner. The sound of a zip being pulled leaves no guesses in her mind as to what he is doing.

"Hey," Law snaps his fingers in front of her face.

Irritation blooms as she slaps his hand out of the air. She's no dog. If he'd wanted her attention, he could have asked for it, like a decent human being.

"Follow me," is all he says to her annoyed grimace. He turns away and starts toward a niche in the wall.

She looks for the crew, and finds them settling in a corner of their own, far away from the light. The tall white bear gives her smile, though she can barely make it out in the darkness. The bear nods his head, and it only then that she decides to comply. She turns back to Law and follows his steps.

Law leads her, again, through another tunnel, this one different than the one they'd used to enter the cave. It's tighter, darker. No torches line the walls, and the roots hang haphazardly in line with their faces. She ducks under each low hanging root, and every now and then has to jump over a particularly gnarled one sticking straight from the ground. Eventually, she cannot see at all, the blackness growing so opaque that it encompasses her. The only guide forward is Law's steady breathing.

Voices, murmurs at first, but the deeper they delve the clearer the voices become. At last, the faintest spark of light is visible, though far at the end of the tunnel. She can barely see it though, as Law's figure blocks most of the pale light. The tunnel squeezes the tightest at the end, so much so that she's forced to turn to her side, walls against both her chest and back, and sidle along. Halfway to the light source though, Law stops.

"What's wrong?"

Law is quiet, solemn. "These people know you. Don't talk unless I prompt you. They're not your friends, they'll eat you alive if they know."

"Know?" she finds herself asking dumbly. "Know what?"

He sighs. "That you've forgotten."

He takes her hand then, and with one last shove through the too small passage, enters the room at the end. She comes free from the tunnel's clutches with a cough, bits of dust and mud clinging to her clothes.

"Doctor," greets a voice. Law says nothing and the greeter clears his voice to cover the silence. After gaining her bearings, she lifts her head to take in the circle of people sat surrounding a weak candle. The man at the head of the group smiles at her, a small upturn of his lips. "Nami," he says.

Nami, people keep saying to her. Nami, Nami, Nami. A strange name. She's not sure if she wants to keep being called that.

Law leads her closer to the group, which immediately shuffles around to make room for them on the floor. He drops her hand as he falls to sit, and she follows suit. The man at the head tilts his head as he watches her, locks of his golden hair falling into his eyes.

"What's wrong Nami?" he asks, concern in his gentlemanly voice.

Law is quick to speak, "She's sick. A fever."

"Oh," the leader nods, as if her being ill is common. "I hope you feel better."

"Enough of that, Sabo," interjects another voice, an older man with odd fish like qualities. He scratches his pale mustache as he looks down at the leader. "We need to establish our strategy."

Sabo's eyes fall down. He reaches out and touches the map at his feet. "We've already decided, Hack. We'll shoot down most of the Marines at dawn with our snipers. Once they've been weakened, we'll lure them deeper into the grove and set off our bombs before initiating face to face."

The fishman sighs, the scales under his eyes scrunching as he closes his eyes. "That's—"

"Dishonorable? I know. At this point, we can't afford to care."

The façade of chivalry and mutual respect dissolves then and there, voices raise, heighten and crescendo as five men fight to speak to their piece all at once. The already weak candle flickers madly, sending shadows dancing in wild designs across the walls.

"When Dragon was in charge—" bites one man.

"The dead are _dead_ ," bites another.

Within the heated mess, sits Law, as cool and calm as he's entered. His eyes are locked on the map, his hands held in his lap with their fingers loosely interlaced. She shifts a bit closer to him, biting her lip in worry as he lifts his gaze to her. She's at a loss of what to do. She doesn't belong here.

"Well, Trafalgar. Tell him. Tell Sabo it can't be done this way." Law's gaze leaves her once more and it travels up to the face of the stern man with the grey cape clinging to his shoulders.

"It can be done. We'll die if we do it any other way."

The caped man frowns deeply, turning immediately to her as soon as Law's words end.

"Nami? Surely you don't agree. We're soldiers, not barbarians."

She looks to Law, and beside her, Law nods once—a barely perceptible incline of his head. Her body is ice as she meets the caped man's eyes.

"I agree," she says.

The caped man sneers and opens his mouth to say more, but the fishman named Hack lifts his hand to stop him.

"Terry, her decision was set in stone the moment the doctor spoke, you know that. Don't disappoint yourself any further."

A low murmur of unrest comes when Terry reclines back with a harsh sigh. Sabo folds the map and tucks it into his breast pocket.

"Halfway till dawn, we leave base with our best shots. Those left behind will assemble the bombs fifty meters from the center of the island, west. We'll lead the Marines there, understood?" There's a stubborn silence before Sabo prompts once more, "Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," comes the weak reply.

And though their mouths speak their consent, the intent boiling in their eyes tells her all she needs to know.

These people do not trust their leader.

Beside her, Law's breathing hitches.

‡

‡

 _The laundry room is a cold place._

 _Stacked high to the near ceiling with clothes and blankets, the only company here is your shadow. There's no electricity on the base, except for in the kitchens, and here, all the washing must be done by hand. The sheer amount of dirty clothes is no joke—but then again, more than half belong to those who have already passed. Those wait in a special corner, free for the taking. It would be a waste to throw away perfectly good clothes, after all._

 _Today, she has decided to wash her clothes—something completely uncommon. This spontaneity conflicts with her usual tidy schedule. But, well, some things just have to be done._

 _Since it is early morning and there is not yet sunlight from outside to filter in through the jail bar windows, she brings a candle to keep her company in the dark. She sets the candle on the only clear space on the ground beside the spigot and sets it alight with a matchstick. With the room partially lit, she is ready to begin._

 _The dress must soak first and foremost—it simply wouldn't do if it were to stain. It's her favorite, after all._

 _She drags a metal bin to her lonely lit spigot and after a few smack to the spout, gets the water running into the bottom of the bin. Inside, she places her soiled dress and a few spritzes of soap. Happy now that her dress is effectively soaking, she fills another bin and sets to the task of washing her own clothes._

 _She hums as she works, a solemn tune that only grows sadder the harder she works._

 _It's lonely._

 _Sometimes she wishes there were more people here._

‡

‡

She's surprised that they'd bothered to make rooms underground like this. Law ushers her into one that is already full with his crew.

"I wonder how long it took them to build this…" she trails off as she looks up at the roots in the ceiling. Law looks at her oddly, if not strangely. "What?"

"It's…" He pauses. "…You made them, not Sabo. The tunnels are your base."

" _I_ made them?" she asks haltingly in slight disbelief. "This place? Why? How?"

He gives her a rueful sort of smile. "I guess no one will ever know now." He leans back against the stomach of the white bear.

She watches him, but he says no more. A bit nonplussed at his refusal to elaborate, she starts to remove her gear, intent on getting her own rest. She throws the swords to the ground, her shoulders aching from their weight and stretches. A yawn escapes her mouth as she settles into a corner of her own. Using her pack as a poor substitute for a pillow, she lays her head down and closes her eyes. Just as she's started to drift off, a sharp noise comes from Law's direction. She hears him sigh—or maybe gasp, and then he is up on his feet and striding over to her side.

"I get it now," he says softly, more to himself than her as he hovers over her. It's confusing, his behavior, but she's just so tired that—

"Nami," he tells her, hands on her face, "don't fall asleep."

She waves him away.

"Don't go to sleep," he murmurs.

"Stay—"

Her eyes flutter.

"—awake."

The prick of a needle through her skin and the fire that races up her arm jerks her back to alertness immediately. She yelps, belatedly, and stares down at the drop of red beading on the tender skin of her inner arm. Law wipes the drop away with a swathe of alcohol soaked cotton. He is breathless, vivid eyes wild as he regards her. The slim, almost crystalline syringe in his hand quivers, just barely.

"Do not," he warns stiffly as he captures her chin in his unforgiving hand, "fall asleep."

And even though it is the eve of battle, and the war is just steps above them, Nami agrees, if only because he looks so ragged.

"Good," he says absently, "That's good." He pauses, then sets the syringe down. "I'll stay with you."

He sits beside her, close enough that their elbows brush, and from his coat pocket, pulls out a small leather bound journal.

"Tell me," he begins curtly, pen cocked and ready at his fingertips, "about your dreams."

Something cold and cruel tick, tick, ticks across the inside of her skull, spindly fingers scratching at the brittle bone cage. She turns to look at him, a trickle running down her back as she stares, seeing him for the first time. He looks back, those brilliantly vivid eyes of his luminescent in the fading flicker of the single lit candle between them…

And it with fear and incomprehensible mortification that this single line of thought comes—

 _He knows_.

‡

‡

She is, apparently, one of the Army's few best shots, and is to accompany them to the top of the hill where they plan to rain bullets down on the opposing Marines. Her body is heavy, sluggish—she has not slept—and her fingers tremble so badly that Shachi decides to tape her fingers to her gun. Shachi won't be joining her and the others, but for some reason, he is awake, alert, and attending to her.

"Just in case," he says as he winds the roll around her knuckles one last time. It's awkward and stiff, but at least she will not drop it anymore.

The weight of the gun is achingly familiar. "Will I have to kill them?"

He looks at her sadly. "This is war," he says.

She closes her eyes, and nods her head.

This is war.

The break of dawn alights the horizon with it's rich glow, bathing the bloodbaths of the fields in a heavenly golden hue. The grass is sodden, trampled, and the trunks of the great trees that make this grove so beautiful stand burnt, but living. In the blood pools of the deceased, one can see themselves and the unmoving pallor of the polluted sky above. Hollow cries of the circling birds punctuate the small bouts of unsettling silence, and as each raven and vulture lands, comes the litter of their dark feathers amongst the filth of the dead.

It is, what she comes to know, the edges of the battlefield.

The winner of this battle will be awarded the task of burying the soldiers lost. Though, even in that, there is no glory.

They slither through the woods, keeping to shadows and never in plain sight. Strategy in favor of honor, they travel up to the crest of a hill that overlooks the remnants of the battle from yesterday. Quietly, weapons are raised at the ready. From the head of the squad, Sabo raises one finger.

 _Wait_.

By now, her body is shaking so hard that the bullets in her gun rattle. A soldier beside her looks her way with concern in his mismatch eyes, one blue, the other green. His hand leaves his gun to rest over hers and as Nami looks up to his face, he gives her a tremulous smile—one that looks achingly young with the smattering of his boyish freckles. With the way he looks at her, so confident in his comfort, she doesn't have quite the heart to tell him that her shivers are not from fear.

"Are you—" two words, and then—

Sabo raises his hand, palm open and fingers spread. The sight of the man with the mismatch eyes raising his gun to proper position and his small, barely there smile is the last anchor of calm before the storm. Sabo's hand falls.

"FIRE!"

And the battle, has begun.

‡

‡

" _Do you hate me, Kiefer?"_

 _They are peeling potatoes in the kitchens when she asks this. Beside her, his hand stills as he turns his face up to look at her incredulously._

" _Hate you?" he asks, eyes wide. "I could never hate you."_

 _She herself doesn't let her gaze leave her task. With a small incline of her head to show that she is indeed listening to him, she drops her freshly peeled potato into the bucket of water and picks up another to begin._

 _Kiefer gives a dry sort of chuckle. "You saved us, after all."_

 _Her knife skids, nearly cutting her guiding finger. Kiefer immediately begins to fuss over her small accident._

" _Ah, look, you almost cut yourself! Don't pay me anymore attention and let's just focus on the task at hand, alright?" He tuts at her one last time before turning his gaze back to his work._

" _Kiefer," she says, now no longer peeling the potatoes. "What you mean by that?"_

" _By what?" He hums a bit as he merrily cuts away at his potatoes._

" _That I saved you—us?"_

" _You—you really don't know?"_

 _She shakes her head._

" _Then, I think it's something you should ask the doctor about."_

" _Law? Why?"_

" _Ah, I have a bad memory, is all. The doctor can tell it to you straight. By the way," he picks up the last potato in his pile, "have you been taking your medicine?"_

 _No, she hasn't._

 _She doesn't tell Kiefer that, but somehow he already knows. Something vaguely sinister gleams in his mismatch eyes, and she feels his gaze even after she has returned to her task._

" _Actually, Miss, I think…" he says haltingly, as though in deep contemplation while twirling his knife between his fingers, "…maybe you ought to stop going to see the doctor."_

 _She gives a questioning look. Kiefer chuckles nervously._

" _Well, it's just that he's been acting a little strange lately…" He pauses. His gaze glazes as he retreats into his thoughts that are far beyond her reach. "Never mind, it's nothing. Forget I what I said. I'm sure he's just been having a couple of bad days."_

 _He shrugs. "I'm sure that's all it is."_

 _With that, he begins, once again, to peel the potatoes. They fall into tense silence, what for though, she doesn't quite know._

‡

‡

Even after the surprise attack and the bombing, the Marines outnumber them two to one. The odds are not in their favor.

She scrambles to reload, but the Marine is already upon her. He hurls his body weight towards her, stopped only by the shield of her gun. A rain of bullets drops out of her hand and onto the grass—lost amongst the blades.

"Die!" screams the soldier. "You fucking revolutionaries! You think you'll save us? You think you'll fix the world? We are the World Government! We are the world!"

His rippling hands reach to wrap themselves around her neck. She sends her knee up into his gut, and rears back to smash the butt of her rifle into his head. The soldier grunts under her gun, but still has enough strength to press back against it. She raises her gun—her hands no longer shaking—and brings it down against his face, again, again and again. His blood is hot on her skin.

Against her back, one of her three swords hums sharply.'

She smells the other soldier before she sees him—he is a beast of a man, covered in grime and blood, the dry speckles of it flaking away from his unshaven cheeks. He only has one ear, and as Nami jumps to her feet to run, she sees that his hands are missing three fingers from each side.

There's a shine in his wild shit brown eyes, a shine that screams at her instincts to run, run and never look back—so she does just that. She turns on her heel, and runs.

It's hard to escape when caught in the middle of a battlefield, however, and she finds that even though she is faster than most, the beastly man is gaining on her. She slips between bodies, narrowly missing bullets and the like as she ducks under the cover of exposed tree roots and other people. Every so often, she goes careening into a bubble.

It goes on like this—her running, beast man chasing—for much longer than it should. She almost thinks she'll get away, when it happens.

"Nami!" someone shouts, and stupidly, so stupidly, her head whips towards the voice—one that she swears she's heard before—and in that instant, the beast man has caught her.

The heft of his body knocks the air right out of her body. She coughs, grit and grass clinging to her lips from where her face is pressed to the dirt. Her arm is bent back the wrong way, throbbing under their combined weight.

 _This is it_ , she thinks as the beast man flips her to her back, _he's going to kill me_.

"I FOUND YOU!" he screeches, hands at her throat, throttling her. He shakes her, slamming her into the dirt again and again, so hard that she sees stars every time her head hits the ground. "I FOUND YOU!" he repeats. Viscous saliva froths at the corners of his gaping mouth.

" _Nami_ ," he says, teeth bared. "I'll kill you for what you did."

His fingers tighten. Darkness begins to creep in at the edges of her vision. She gasps, her one free hand tearing at the soldier's vice grip but to no avail. She cannot breathe. There are tears in the soldier's eyes.

"You're a beast—you're a monster. You deserve every minute of this. You deserve to die, ten times over again for what you did. All those lives, they mattered. They were people, humans. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters… They meant something to someone—and you," the soldier's tears fall against her face, "you took them all away." His voice falls quiet. The boom of canons and the rage of gunfire drowns his voice. "You killed them."

Color spots her vision. She cannot breathe—she cannot breathe—

"All for what?" he chuckles, a little madly, a little sadly. "Revenge for the dead? I—"

Suddenly, he is gone.

She coughs, gagging at the soreness of her freed throat. As she sucks in her breath, she sees that the giant white bear has come to her aid. The bear—Bepo, digs his claws into the soldier's face, the snarl on his face contorting his teddy bear features into that of a storybook monster's. The soldier roars in pain, thrashing on the ground where he is pinned, legs kicking out at his captor. Bepo ends the fight there, digging his teeth into the soldier's bared throat with no mercy.

Blood dripping from his maw, Bepo turns to her with concern in his coal eyes. "Focus," he scolds her as he stands. "You need to focus."

He takes her hand and rips the tape that keeps her gun held in her hand. In her palm, he places the handle of a long knife. The blade is glossy, and the handle is lined with twisting vines of gold and pearls. It is hardly a weapon—rather, it looks to be nothing more than a pretty trinket that is heavy, if anything.

"There are devil fruit users here, this will hurt them," Bepo says as he closes her hand over the intricate handle.

As he turns to leave, she takes his sleeve. "I can't take your weapon."

Bepo only shakes his head. "It's not mine. That's yours."

With those words, the bear disappears into the fray once more.

Against her back, the sword hums once again, and this time she knows enough to turn around and catch the sight of the Marine aiming his gun at her. Muscle memory kicks her body into motion, the familiarity of the scent of gunpowder and blood filling her senses. She rears her hand back and throws her knife, eyes unblinking as she watches the tip of the blade catch in the Marine's one uncovered eye. He screams, and his companion raises his own gun in answer, but it is already too late.

She takes her knife from where it is wedged in the newly blinded boy's face and delves it into the pale flesh of his neck before doing the same to his too scared partner. They fall to the trodden grass, and like her bullets, are lost in the blades.

Just boys. No more than the age of twelve, and here they are, giving their lives for a battle they don't understand.

Eerily, the words of the now dead soldier rings in the sovereign emptiness of her mind.

 _People, humans… somewhere, to someone, they mean something…_

But that is just a thought, and she lets it fester no longer than it needs to. She shakes her head and wipes the blade of her knife on the soiled grass, already alert and searching for the next Marine soldier to kill.

This, after all, is war.

People die.

So be it.

‡

‡

" _What do you want, Kiefer?"_

 _Mismatch eyes alight on her. He hangs in the door for a moment longer, simply watching her before he steps inside and takes a seat across from her. Kiefer looks around the room, taking in the rows of shelves that held the sickbay's medicine. They are devastatingly bare, save for the stray bottle of pills every so often._

" _I was just looking for you. I hadn't seen you all day," he says as he fidgets. He looks down at the paper in her hands. "Oh, you're feeling better then?"_

" _I—" she looks at the map she'd been studying, "what do you mean?"_

 _He smiles, and it is a secretive little thing._

" _That's yours you know." He points to the looping letters in the bottom corner. "See, your name. N-A-M-I." His finger traces each letter. Before she can scold him on making her feel stupid, he gestures to the room at large. "So this is the doctor's office?"_

"… _Yes," she says, unsure of what he's truly asking. He only smiles._

" _You've been hiding here all day?"_

" _Well, no. Law wanted me to—"_

" _Do you always do what the doctor wants?" Kiefer asks suddenly in a voice so stern and so unlike his usual nervous self, that it startles her. He presses his open palms to the table. "If he told you to kill somebody, would you do it? For him?"_

 _His eyes are hard._

 _The tension creeping into the room puts her on edge. Dropping the map and the air of ease she'd come to use with Kiefer, she sits up to her full height._

" _What do you want, Kiefer?" she asks again._

" _I want Nami back," he hisses, "not this lovesick girl you've become."_

 _Her eyes flash with anger. "You don't know me."_

" _Yes," he tells her, "I do. More than you do, now." He pauses, then interrupts her just as she's starting to speak. "He did it, didn't he?"_

 _She stops. Looks at him as if for the first time. She doesn't answer, and Kiefer knows just from the look in her eyes._

" _You've been sick. Haven't you noticed? You weren't like this before. They know something—and your precious doctor's in on it." He chuckles. "But no, no, no, there's no way your sweet, sweet doctor could ever do something so—"_

" _Kiefer." She puts a finger to her lips. "He's coming."_

 _Kiefer quiets. He leans back into his chair and pulls his hands into his lap. The anger leaves his boyish face, making him youthful and pert once more. They hear his steps as he approaches, and when he enters the room, it is with surprise. Law's yellow eyes flick between her and Kiefer, suddenly suspicious._

" _Hello, Doctor," Kiefer greets genially. "It's a fine evening."_

 _Law shuffles into the room and sets the tray in his hands down on the table. "It is," he says warily._

 _Kiefer smiles, the scar on his lips stretching. "It is," he echoes._

 _Beside her, Law shifts. She feels cold sweat bead on her skin as Law finally takes a seat. The charge in the room is, of many things, uncomfortable._

" _Oh," Kiefer says merrily as he peers at the tray, "you've bought tea. How generous."_

 _Kiefer takes the cup and brings it to his mouth._

" _Don't drink that!"_

 _That sinister gleam enchants Kiefer's eyes once more. "Oh?" he drawls as he pulls back from the cup's lip. "And why not?"_

 _Her gaze jumps to Law in anticipation of his answer. Law's mouth twists before his face schools itself into complete blankness._

" _I'd rather you not give her any of your diseases," Law says simply, perhaps too simply._

 _Kiefer's mouth tips up at the corner, not quite a smirk, not quite a sneer._

" _Is that so, Doctor?" he murmurs as he sets down the cup with a definitive clack._

 _Law doesn't blink when he meets Kiefer's gaze._

 _In a faraway corner of the room, a lonely clock ticks._

‡

‡

They're losing.

They can't win here.

She is running back to the tunnels in retreat as Sabo ordered when she sees it. Law is hurt, it seems, sprawled on the grass and kneeling before a monster of a man who wields one large battle axe. Law clutches at his chest, his hand bloody. Strange, she hadn't thought of him at all… The axe rises in the air, and suddenly, she realizes that the fight before her is easily one sided.

She stops.

The world slows.

Law is going to die.

"No…" The word is whispered, reverent.

Her heart beats madly against the cage of her ribs.

 _Move._

Her hands shake, knees tremble. Her mouth goes dry.

He won't make it. He can't dodge it.

 _Move._

She can't tear her eyes away.

It's like history is playing itself over again.

 _ **MOVE.**_

One step—then two.

Her body is in front of his before she can even comprehend that she has moved. Someone shouts, and someone screams, both are garbled versions of her name, but Nami doesn't answer.

The axe swings down.

‡

‡

The room is paneled with shiny bamboo, trailing across the floor and up the walls, a never ending seamless spread of buttery wood, disrupted only by a neat square cut in the ground. A red painted door lies under a single nailed board, startlingly out of place in the wood walled room. What light that peeks through the slits of the boarded window burn her skin from where she lays, curled like a fetus on the floor in a corner. A leaking faucet drips continuously. The sink is marble green, the mirror round and the toilet—

There is a skeleton sitting on the toilet.

Nami can only stare as it—seemingly he, since the skeleton wears a fine silk suit and top hat—crosses its meatless legs and takes a long, calm sip from its chipped tea cup. As she moves to sit, the skeleton sets the cup down into its saucer he holds in the opposite hand with a dainty _clink_.

With eyeless sockets, he turns to regard her, his skeletal face blank as he says genially, "Good morning to you, Nami. You were sleeping, I couldn't wake you."

Nami stares. And stares. No sound leaves her mouth.

The door in the floor rattles violently, splitting the worn single board nailed over it. The skeleton sighs.

"They're almost upon us," he says, breathlessly calm, "I don't think we have much time left."

The skeleton stands, setting his cup and saucer on the edge of the marble green sink, and pulls the porcelain throne straight from the wall. Then, nonchalant as ever, strides over to the door threatening to burst, and drops it over the top. He sits back down on the closed lid of the toilet and crosses his stick legs again. His bony fingers knit together over his lap. His blue cravat is torn and there is an orange feather clinging stubbornly in his wild black hair.

Nami cannot stop staring.

When the door rattles again, both the toilet and the skeleton shakes with it.

"Who is it?"

He turns to look at her once more, though with his skinless, eyeless, lipless face, she can't discern the emotion he wants to convey to her. He makes a noise, a clucking of his tongue, which should be impossible.

"Don't pretend you don't know, Nami," he sneers, as though saying her name is poison in his mouth. His voice is oily, tone grease as blood drips from between his teeth. "They're here for you, after all."

The next shake lifts the skeleton and toilet off the ground nearly a foot into the air. The skeleton remains calm as he falls back down on the top. He clenches his knitted fingers so tight they crunch.

"It didn't have to be this way." The tense anger in his body melts into drooping sadness. The disgust flees his voice. "It could have been different."

Nami blinks, lips quivering and breathless, she asks, "What?"

"If only you had kept your hands to yourself." He shakes his head mournfully. "Your greed is insatiable; you're never satisfied with what you have." A pause, then, tenderly, like a father to his dearest child, he says, "You need to wake up now."

Something long and scaly slithers out of his eyeless socket, plopping onto the polished wood floor with a wet splat. It scampers of into the darkness of the far corner of the room.

He looks at her again. "You need to wake up."

The door shakes so hard that the skeleton is thrown to the floor.

"Wake up Nami," he says to her. "Wake up."

" _WAKE UP_!"

Her eyes snap open, body spasming as she is jolted into the waking world. The thunderous throbbing in her skull dulls the battle sounds, making her feel as though there are rolls of cotton jammed up her ears. She squints against the blurs of colors hovering above her, but no matter how many times she blinks, she cannot clear her vision.

Pain blooms down her face, crawling down in electric vines that wrap around her neck and shoulders. Her arm is numb, and her leg feels like it's been bent back the wrong way. The entire left side of her body feels as though it's been hurled into a shredder.

"Nami," a voice hisses, prodding insistently at her uninjured side. "You need to stay awake!"

She can't see, there's nothing but flashes of color swimming in her eyes. Dizzy. She's so dizzy.

"Nami!"

He _slapped_ her.

That wasn't very nice.

"You can't fall asleep!" He pulls her arm and wraps it around his shoulders. "I'll carry you, but you need to stay lucid."

Nami breathes slowly. It hurts. Inside. Something warm dribbles down her upper lip.

"Do not—"

" _You're mean,"_ he says even as he heaves her in his arms. _"You're evil, you—you're a real liar, you know that?"_

"—close your eyes."

" _I won't forgive you. I'll hate you forever. You swore to me, you promised—"_ he chokes on a sob and his words dissolve into tearful murmurs. His chest stutters back and forth against her face as he heaves giant breaths.

"Eyes open! Keep them open!"

" _It won't stop! Why won't it stop?"_ His hands are heavy against her chest, her throat, her stomach. She's half convinced that he's feeling her up when his hands delve between her breasts, but then it hits her blearily that he isn't like that. He's never been like that.

"Nami!"

" _Don't leave me."_ There's a desperation in his voice that shouldn't be there. He bows over her, arms digging under her dead weight to cradle her in his embrace, as though to shield her from any more harm.

" _Tell me how to save you. Tell me what to do."_ He's begging now, in a way she has never heard for herself, only from stories, half written boasts over the crackle of a bonfire and veil of booze. She doesn't like it. He shouldn't ever have to beg, especially with her. Her threats are always empty, she would give him anything, doesn't he know that? He gave her a life worth living after all. His voice cracks and with it, her heart splits, just a little, but enough that it makes her want to take all his pain away.

" _You always know what to do,"_ he says, cries, begs, _"We need you—I need you."_

"It's okay," she tells him, "You'll be alright."

He is, after all, the luckiest bastard she'd ever met.

The tears glittering on his cheeks don't suit him. She reaches to wipe them away, her fingers tracing the familiar scar under his eye. He leans into her hand, even though it marks his skin with red. She tries to smile, but it only makes him cry harder.

"Don't cry." Her voice is thin. He has to pull her closer to hear her. It's hard trying to talk.

She's so tired.

Against his neck as he cradles her, she pleads in a voice so unlike her own, "Don't cry for me, Luffy. Please don't cry anymore."

"What did you call me?"

"You'll break my heart," she murmurs sadly.

The tears come, and they fall like hot bullets down her cheeks. It hurts—everything hurts so goddamn much, but his embrace is so warm that she curls a little closer, ear over his steady heart. The puckered skin of his scar is rough against her cheek, but is familiar and is nearly home. He shakes her, and shouts at her, yelling and crying, but she finds her eyes slipping closed anyway.

She's just so tired. So, so tired.

She just—she just wants to—

 _Just one more time._

"Nami," someone calls to her. "Nami."

 _Just once more._

"Nami, Nami, Nami," they say, so far away.

 _I want to see you._

Even though he screams at her not to, she falls back into the dark lull of sleep.

It doesn't hurt anymore.

‡

‡

Citrus, salt, sweat and wet grass. If she were to try a bit harder, she would catch the fleeting scent of freshly cut pineapple and sugar coated glasses. The steady groan of the rocking ship is home to her, the dampness of the soft grass beneath her bare feet familiar. The silver moon hangs high overhead, glittering moonlight dancing off the navy sea, ripples of diamond light swimming to meet the horizon. A violin plays a waltzing song, and a mile long string of paper lanterns decorate the deck. Somewhere a little further off, somebody chuckles loudly.

Nami stares, caught in the vision of the lanterns' soft focus light fluttering down against her sunkissed skin. She touches herself, a finger to her forearm, and is appalled that such a beautiful body could be her own. A hand thrusts into her field of vision, and Nami turns to it, following up the muscled forearm attached and to the face that smiles down at her.

His lips stretch wider as he speaks, humorously noble, "Excuse me for my forwardness, my fair lady, but may I have this dance?"

The way his round eyes sparkle makes her smile. She pretends to mull it over before presenting her hand. "You may."

He takes it with a knowing grin, tugging her closer with comical clumsiness. She laughs as she's pulled off balance and sent toppling onto his chest. He catches her in strong arms and, snickering under his breath, guides her hands to their proper positions. One on his shoulder and the other clutched in his.

The first step they take has Nami bursting in giggles as his abnormally long nose nearly stabs her eye. The second step they take is smoother, and third near perfect, but the fourth falls flat when once again, his long nose proves difficult to avoid.

He throws his head back to laugh the same time she does. It's a deep bellied laugh, the kind that can't be faked.

Between her own breathless laughs, she teases, "My dearest sir, I'm afraid a dance with you is near impossible."

"Then we must improvise!" he exclaims as he effortlessly twirls her around the grassy deck. Another fit of laughter has her stomach burning as she spins under his arm. Around and around, she goes, guided by his warm hand holding hers. Somewhere further away, there are voices, as sweet as the violin that plays the waltzing tune.

A flash of electric blue. "Care to dance?"

A gentle tinkering, and black silk hair. "I would love to."

Blue hat, childish voice. "I want to dance too!"

Flaxen hair. "Get your dirty paws off my beautiful ladies!"

The jingle of jewelry and clang of metal. "They don't belong to anybody, least of all you."

"What was that, you piece of shit barbarian?"

"I said, where's the sake?"

"Oi, that's not—just where the hell do you think you're going? Get back here!"

Then, above all the chatter, rings a laughter so beautiful and happy that Nami can't help but laugh louder. Her cheeks hurt from the stretch of her smile.

The sky is so clear. The stars so bright. Her heart sings.

Around and around she goes.

She doesn't want to stop. She doesn't want to leave. She wants to stay here, right here, for all of forever.

 _Please._

Just a little bit longer, just a little while longer.

 _Don't leave me behind._

The warm hand holding hers lets her go, the music fades away. The lantern lights dim.

She opens her eyes.

The ceiling is white.

And it is with pity, that she realizes she is awake.

* * *

 _ **And thus concludes a trippy chapter~**_

 **Silvia—Hello and welcome to the LawNa fandom! I hope you thoroughly enjoy your stay! Thank you, I'm glad you love my story, it makes me really happy. I'm glad you like it so much. And regarding your question, yes, Law is six years older than her as in canon.**

 **Guest—Aw, yeah, she is a bit selfish isn't she? Well, Koala just doesn't rub her the right way, at least that's what Nami seems to be going with. I think she just doesn't like her very much because the way she acts hits a little too close to home… Anyway, thanks for your review. :)**

 **lu-24—Thanks! :D I'm glad you liked the chapter! And yes, actually, you've caught onto something with that… she does seem a bit off after every time she sees them, doesn't she? Keep collecting the details, they come in handy! She** _ **does**_ **look younger, suspicious isn't it? ;) You've got all the right questions, keep following them as you read deeper into the story. I'll just tell you this, yes, she is distancing herself as much as possible. But even that begs the question—why?**

 **Guest—Happy you like it! :) Hmmm, who knows… it could be or it couldn't be—I mean, Law is a little strange at times, isn't he?**

 **sarge1130—You do get pretty close at times, I admit. Your analysis of every chapter is very spot on and I love getting your reviews. You brought up a good question, Law is called a traitor by civilians because of what he did regarding the World Government. He betrayed the WG a long time ago, and even though Nami forgot why, Sabo and the rest knows the whole story. In canon he already sort of threw away his position but in this world that position is going to be fleshed out more. If you've noticed he's not well liked even with the Revolutionaries, they seem to simply tolerate him because they need him. And yes, you're right—the unnamed faction has something to do with her past. Doflamingo will show up, but I can't just tell you why or where just yet! You'll have to keep reading to know more! And as always, thank you for your review! :D**

 **Hachibukai—Ah, yeah, I did change the summary. I felt like the previous one was a bit too vague. Yesss, Law is irresistible ;) He's too good. Don't be sorry! I love reading reviews, no matter how long or short they are. You could probably just type a bunch of random letters and I would still love it. It makes me happy that you enjoy my work so much! Yes, actually, there is something between Nami and Sabo, but it isn't romantic…yet. At least, not while Law is around. Nami only has eyes for him currently (as we all do). I'm glad you like this darker Nami, I really like her too. She became this way after some unfortunate circumstances, she'll get darker and darker the more we get to know her… Haha, you don't have to be worried, I'm always inspired for this fic, I have everything planned well into the end—the only problem is that I'm really busy with work and don't have much time these days. I won't abandon this fic, I promise. Even if I disappear for a while, know that an update will come, no matter how late until the fic is completely finished. Thank you so much for your reviews, reading them always puts a smile on my face :D**

 **coolalexia12—Thanks!**

 **Anopy—Exams always do that, don't they? They suck your soul out, I swear, every time I study for and take one I feel like my lifespan has shortened slightly! Yes, Law is very proud and very stubborn, his pride is one of his weaknesses actually. It'll be detrimental if he keeps doing things the way he does. You noticed the humming! The humming** _ **is**_ **important—Law was humming, the sword was humming and just who happened to own the sword before Nami got her hands on it? Zoro. And who was laughing so weird in her dream? Again, Zoro. What do Zoro and Law have in common…? Hmmm…. Something suspicious going on right there ;) Nami** _ **is**_ **younger than she is supposed to be, and though she did do some questionable things to Bonney, her age doesn't quite have to do with Bonney's df ability. The population did thin out a lot—don't believe everything you hear, some words get jumbled in transit—who knows, the SH grand fleet could be 700K like they say or it could be 7k or more, or less… Like Memento, everything's going to fall into this giant heap before the pieces start clicking together. Right now we're only scratching at the surface. Thank you for your review! :)**

 **Guest no. n—Thank you! :D I'm glad you liked my fic so much. Yes, the mystery of it all is whether the SH are dead or alive. And why that is. Nami does have the memories, but she's… hidden them, so to speak. Law and Nami's relationship is…complicated. They know each other yet they don't, Nami feels close to him but he acts aloof—another mystery to already overfull pile of mysteries. I'll give you this answer, yes, Law and Nami were close before her illness—but how close is something for you to find out.**

* * *

 _ **SELF NOTE;**_ …(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻


	10. nine, fever dream

_**Welcome back!**_

 _ **I hope you don't hate me too much for the long wait… Anyway, enjoy!**_

 **To the guest who was/is considering dropping reading until serialization is over—By all means, feel free. I knew before writing this and after, that many people weren't going to follow along well. I wrote The Breaking Point with this intention. You, as the reader, are given a very limited, very biased viewpoint into the world through Nami's eyes. You only know as much as she lets you know, which is very little. If you feel like you can stick it out, I invite you to wait until the end of the story, though, I do warn you, the end is nowhere in sight, as I have currently 30+ chapters drafted, almost 40,000 words, more or less. The serialization of the fanfic will mostly like take another year, at the least, before completing it's cycle. I'm glad you like my style and tone, as a writer, I'm always happy when people enjoy the work I put out. This goes for all my readers(even my silent ones). I don't mind if you want to wait, as most stories are best read as a whole. Thank you for your review, and—**

 **Much Love,**

 **aerstwhyle**

 _ **Remember that all past events are in italics!**_

* * *

 **the** _ **break**_ **ing point**

Nami is injured while protecting Law during a skirmish. In the past, a man named Kiefer grows impatient with Nami and her inability to see bad in Law.

* * *

 _ **n**_ **ine** _ **| fever dream**_

Things come to her, little by little. A name, a voice, a smile, the smell of tobacco and salt of the sea. Some are good, snapshots of lips on hers, laughs by the bonfire and sparkle of the stars from the deck one late night—while some are bad, flashes of red on red, fire on her skin and blood on her tongue. But they are just that, things, hardly a memory. She has no use for things that lay and clutter in her mind, no where to go, nothing to be.

Or so she says.

Some things hit her hard—the snap of a rubber band somewhere off in the distance, the gentle tinker of jewelry of someone's earrings—and have her crying with no idea why. They hurt her. They just do.

The worst of it is when she is visited by her ever vigilant doctor.

He is tall, and perhaps a little bit thin, and wears but one color; black. His eyes are bright, vivid, luminescent like amber stones, and though his scathing mouth is always fallen into a scowl, the superimposed image of a time past, of a time that must be before, says that it should be a smile there. She found easily in those early days after waking that she couldn't look at him for too long. He hurts her too.

Why?

She doesn't know.

Those little things that come to her are just things, not memories. She has nothing for herself but scraps of the Before. Then. Long ago. Before.

They—two men and a white bear—tell her that she was hurt bad during a battle. They tell her that she was brave, and that she saved their captain. They speak of her to her as though she is already dead. She can't say they're wrong.

She feels like a dead girl walking. Like she shouldn't be here, now. Like her time has already passed her by, what seems so long ago.

She tells no one though.

That's for her to know, no one else.

No one else, what a familiar phrase.

She wonders who she's said that to before.

But that's neither here nor there.

Her ever vigilant doctor has come to see her.

"Nami," he says by way of greeting. The name rings sharp in her ears. Hers, yet not hers. She peers at him from the corner of her eye, face hidden by her downy white covers.

"Are you awake?" he asks. His footsteps approach her bed, and she curls in tighter.

Sometimes, she wishes to never wake from her sleep. If she could, then she would. What is there for her here? What is there to live for? No one would miss her. It would be so easy—

Her doctor puts his hand on her shoulder. She doesn't know how she feels about that. About him.

"Hey," he says, and she supposes that he means to sound gentle, but the tone of voice is so deliberate that he may as well be a drone. He is methodical, mechanical. And though he is rugged at his worst and devastatingly handsome at his best, his face is always cool, calm, placid like still waters at night. It's as though he's afraid of what she might see. Afraid of what she might do.

As though she is an animal.

The thought makes her boil and her head throb.

She's tired of being treated like an animal, like something to caged or paraded, something to be kept, hoarded.

She's just so tired.

Just so tired…

Her doctor yanks the covers away from her, and she yelps, curling her knees up and arms down to cover herself, cowering rather pathetically, not that she would admit it. Belatedly, she realizes that she is still clothed and that the doctor's hands are no where near her body, no where close to pulling her dress up or pushing her face down. The realization calms her a bit, but that calm is short lived.

"Are you done?" he demands with the faintest inklings of irritation. The cold chill of the room seeps into her skin, and she shivers.

"No," she shoots back, giving him the dirtiest glare she can muster. He returns it before slipping back into that unsettling calm. She makes to pulls the covers back, but her doctor holds firm.

"Nami," he says, stern, "you need to get up."

Nami. Nami, Nami, Nami.

She's just so tired. Of all of it.

This time when he tries to touch her, she snaps up and sends her fist into his face. He splutters and staggers back a step, his hand rising up to cradle his quickly reddening cheek.

"Get out!" she screeches, loud enough that her ears sting. When he only looks at her, poorly concealed disdain in those amber eyes of his, she yells again. "I said to get out!"

She doesn't want to look at him—doesn't want to see that blank look on his face. She's sick of him, of this room, of the images that play back over and over again when she closes her eyes. Faces she doesn't know, places she's never been, things she's never done.

 _A man, smiling as he kneels down to lick her vomit off the floor—_

 _A woman, smiling as a bullet pierces through her forehead—_

 _A boy, smiling as he tells her that he will have her, and only her, no one else—_

 _A child, crying as she slits his throat and watches him die—_

And it hurts.

It _hurts_.

"Where?"

She blinks.

Her doctor takes her hands away from where she has them over her face, the skin of his palms warm against hers.

"Where?" he asks again. "Where does it hurt?"

She looks at him. Really looks at him. Sees the furrow in his brow and the tiredness of his eyes, and to her guilt, sees herself in his frazzled gaze. She pulls her hands from his hold and instead reaches to touch the darkening bruise on his handsome face, wondering all the while when she became so bold.

He says nothing, only watches her as she runs her fingers over the edges of his jaw, across his cheekbone and against the arch of his brow. There's something in there, in his carefully blank eyes, and she swears she's seen it before, but where, when, why, evades her.

Quietly, she draws away, lays back down on her bed, and looks away.

Her doctor waits a beat, then pulls the covers back over her. From his pocket, he pulls out a notebook and pen. She watches warily as he sits on the edge of her mattress, careful not to touch her.

"Tell me," he starts, and suddenly, as his pen touches his paper, she feels like she's seen this before, "about your dreams."

She parts her lips to answer.

"I—" she begins to say.

‡

‡

Sweetheart, he calls her.

It is an insult, a brand, a cage, and every time that word falls from his mouth like poisoned honey, she feels that dark anger inside her grow. She wants to hurt him, maim him; pierce the whites of his eyes and cut his tongue from the cradle of his perverse mouth and make him swallow it. She wants to mutilate him, flay his skin from his muscles and part the flesh to watch him bleed and bleed and bleed until there is no more blood left. Voices in the darkest reaches of her mind call for it, they beg her and snarl and spit and push against the hollow hold of her skull until Nami thinks she may go mad from the pain of want. Never before has she wanted to commit evil… Not like this.

But it keeps her alive, this desire; it keeps her sharp and it keeps her sane.

When she breaks free from this filthy prison cell, she will cut him open, and devour his heart—no, not just his heart. After everything? That simply wouldn't do. She will strip his flesh from his bones with her teeth and drink the blood that pulses red in his veins, she will swallow every last piece of him, from his body to his soul and once she has—

Footsteps outside of her prison quiet the screaming in her head. She curls tighter around herself, casting a wary eye to the bars that mock her freedom. His figure casts an ugly shadow on the filthy stone floor—dirty with nothing other than her own blood and vomit.

The tinkering of the key being shoved into the lock drives her mad. She grits her teeth to keep from growling like the feral animal that she is quickly becoming.

 _Kill him._

"Good morning," her keeper all but purrs, "my sweetheart."

 _Kill him._

Nami inhales, a slow drawl of air.

 _Kill him._

When he comes close enough, Nami leans across the chasm between them, and tears into his throat with her teeth. The heat of his blood burns her skin and slips over her tongue like stale warm wine. In her dry mouth, he tastes like trash.

It makes her want to laugh.

 _ **KILL HIM.**_

She opens her tightly shut eyes—

And realizes that she is crying.

There is a white duvet tangled in her legs, and the floor beneath her knees is polished, waxed walnut. Someone is holding her, hands to her shoulders, but the feel and width of those hands aren't of the monster in her dream.

The blood is gone. The filth, gone.

It's warm. It's clean.

Safe.

She lets those hands guide her back onto the bed, where she falls—lulled by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear—once again, into slumber.

‡

‡

 _She will have no one else._

 _Kiefer is her boy, her darling little sunshine. He will come with her. Perhaps this is her most foolish mistake—_

 _No._

 _Her most foolish mistake is believing that people forget the dead._

 _But no matter._

 _She packs her bags and tells Kiefer about the sea, about the Before. He listens in rapt attention, always so eager to please her. She traces the shape of the scar she put on his face and tells him she loves him. He looks at her like she is the incarnate of a goddess, and tells her that he loves her too._

How easy it is for you, to love someone you don't know _, she wants to say, but holds her tongue._

 _Kiefer is good. Too good. He will come with her. He is all she has, and she is all he has. She is his mother, his teacher, his savior. He is her excuse from rightful suicide. Not family. Never family. Nami's family has long since left her._

 _They set out for sea, and Kiefer kills his first man on the eve of his fourteenth birthday. He cries, clutching the gun so hard in his white knuckled hands that Nami can hear the creak of his bones. She eases the gun from him grasp, pulling his fingers away one by one, and tells him how brave he is._

" _You saved me," she says as he breathes as if he knows nothing of air. "You did what you had to do."_

" _This," she tells him as he clutches onto her arms, "is war."_

" _People die."_

" _So be it."_

 _But unlike her, Kiefer is good. Too good. And he is always crying._

 _He cries as she forces him to eat the fruit. Why does he cry so? Does he not know how much he needs it? How it will save him from death? They stand amongst the filth of the dead, souls gone by, the number racked and carved under Nami's belt. A measly twenty in comparison to her most outstanding toll of—_

" _Swallow it," she barks with no kindness as he gags on the taste. "Don't you dare spit it out."_

 _He can no longer swim. They must have one more to accompany them on their journey. If either one of them were to fall, it would be over. Done. Nami has to fight the urge to let herself fall into the dark allure of the sea and be done with it all._

 _They bring a girl with emerald eyes and golden hair. She is Eli, and is pretty, with elven features and a pert, upturned nose that is irritatingly breakable. The girl is smart, but she is not strong. She almost lets Nami's darling Kiefer drown one night, and Nami is forced to bring another._

 _Not quite man, not quite boy, his name is Liam, and he has startlingly green eyes and deep copper skin, handsome and loyal. He is strong, but he is reckless. Kiefer is in no danger of drowning with Liam, but Liam in danger is a constant._

 _They camp in abandoned islands, ruins of cities with no fear. They make their way slowly, ever slowly, towards their goal._

 _But Liam is reckless. And Eli is weak. And Kiefer is far too good._

 _And Nami?_

 _She is selfish._

 _She cares little for things that are not hers._

 _Kiefer is her boy._

 _When she thinks back on Liam and Eli, it is with distant apathy._

 _She did what she had to do._

 _This is war._

 _People after all, die._

 _So be it._

‡

‡

When she wakes, she is strangely cold. She reaches behind her, half expecting someone to be there, and is almost disappointed when she touches nothing but cool sheets. Almost, but not quite. The sun that shine into her eyes tells her that they've surfaced, and the murmur of voices beyond her door tells her that there are more people on the ship than usual.

There is excitement in the air, and Nami, for once, does not want to be exempt from it.

This room tires her so, with it's blank walls and empty drawers. And for some strange reason, she's woken with a good mood. And so she rises, tosses the covers from her legs and swings her legs onto the floor. She flinches. The ground is too cool against her feet.

Most days, the door is left unlocked, but on the days where her doctor has lost his patience with her, he will leave her lock in isolation for god knows how long. Today is not such a day, and under Nami's hand, it opens easily, allowing her into the hallway. She smooths her long hair down and tugs on the hem of her dress, anxious for the first time in a long time about how she must look. It's been weeks since she'd last looked into a mirror, and that had been back when she'd first woken, her face and throat mottled with bruises. She'd avoided mirrors after that, and only now does she feel regret at having forced her doctor to remove them from her bathroom.

"Nami?" A voice breaks her from her reverie. Startled she turns towards it, hand at her throat and heart jumping.

The white bear looks back at her, equally surprised.

"Are you feeling better today?" he asks, his tone so gentle that she flusters.

"I'm… alright," she replies after a long pause.

The bear smiles at that and after another pause, extends his paw towards her. "Were you looking for Captain?"

She nods in ascent, even though she wasn't looking for anything in particular. The bear smiles wider and beckons her. With hesitation, she takes his paw. His claws are intimidating, but the pads of his fingers are incredibly soft.

"He's in the main room, I'll take you to him."

She follows him, their footsteps soft against the low murmur of voices. The lights are dim, and what little light that floods from the portholes are brilliant, sending beams of white light dancing across the floor. The sun light is warm on her skin, and she is reminded suddenly of a time when she used to lay out for hours under the sun, simply basking. But again, it is not a memory, only a fleeting color and sensation.

The bear remains oblivious to her thoughts, happily leading the way to his captain and her doctor. His fur seems damp, and he smells faintly of sweat, prompting her to wonder if he's ever hot under his uniform. It would seem so.

They enter a common room of sorts, and the moment she crosses the threshold, all eyes are on her.

One in particular stands out.

A woman with sky blue hair and indigo eyes stares at her like she is something reverent, something legendary. The women's lips part, and, trembling, she exclaims softly, "Nami."

The woman stumbles on her feet, like she's lost feeling her legs, only for a man just beside her to catch her, whispering a faint, "Are you alright, Vivi?"

"Nami," the woman—Vivi—says again, "Nami is that really you?"

And Nami herself simply stares.

Should she speak? Should she reply? Should she tell the stranger that she knows nothing of her?

Her doctor speaks for her.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks to break the silence. Already, he is moving to cross the room in three quick strides. He seems upset, but what for, she cannot guess. Not yet at least. His hand falls to her arm, pulling her close.

"Yes," she answers truthfully. His grip loosens enough that it doesn't hurt, but not near loose enough for her to pull away. She meets his gaze, only to see panic flitting there. Her eyes fall back on Vivi and how she's watching them both with such wide, wondrous eyes.

Her doctor puts his hand to her forehead and makes a grand show of fussing over her, tutting at her temperature and musing that she should eat and take her medicine out loud. She almost laughs at him outright. He's a terrible liar.

He drags her and the white bear out the common room with an exclamation of how she needs more rest, and once they're out of earshot, he whirls on the bear.

"What were you thinking bring her out here, Bepo?"

"Sorry Captain…" The bear looks at his feet sheepishly. "I thought you were alone."

Her doctor sighs deeply. "Go back and tell them that Nami isn't feeling well. And that she won't be joining them for the night because her injury is… flaring up."

"But," stammers the bear, "she just said out loud that she was feeling fine."

"Tell them that she was pretending." Her doctor's eyes dart here and there, at a loss for an excuse. "Tell them that she's always… like this… No, that's not right…"

"Bepo," she says to the white bear after listening his captain's meager skills in lying, "you can tell them that you were looking for your Captain because I wasn't feeling well. Say that I have a fever, they'll fill the blanks themselves."

Her doctor blinks like the answer was obvious—which is was. To her, at least.

"Yeah," he agrees as he nods to the bear, "Tell them that."

She opens her mouth to say more, but her doctor is already leading her away. The white bear salutes them before running back towards the common room.

"Hey," she calls to him.

"What?" replies her doctor.

"Who was she?" Then remembering her name, she asks differently, "Who's Vivi, Doctor?"

Her doctor is quiet. His hand slips from her elbow to her wrist, the slide of his palm leaving her wanting him to do it again. When he looks at her, it is with a brush of loneliness.

"Call me Law," he tells her instead. "Just Law."

‡

‡

 _Kiefer looks at her, eyes wide and lips parted as he reaches out one lonely hand to touch her. Nami steps aside, out of reach, out of touch, and strides towards the sink. It's hard putting one foot in front of the other today, and the world around her seems so bright—so woolen. Her ears ring. Her eyes water._

" _Are you alright, Nami?" Kiefer asks with his wide mismatch eyes trained on her. They are bright and as she blinks, she can see them dance behind her eyelids, a spiel of colors that she just can't seem to—_

 _Nami takes a cup from the cupboard and inspects it. The glass seems to shiver and slide from side to side in her hand, glowing a strange shade of purple. It's shine is so bright, she has to shut her eyes._

" _Fine," she says, "just fine."_

 _She turns on the tap._

 _When she lifts the cup to her lips, she finds that she's dropped it onto the floor, and that Kiefer sits picking up the shards._

‡

‡

Law hides things from her.

She's hardly surprised. It's well within his character; Law fancies himself as some kind of dark knight, honorable, morally grey. He thinks he's well within rights. She thinks him a tad bit silly. He was the one who wanted so badly for her get better. The only one sabotaging that is himself. If he's going to be so tight lipped about her, then she decides that she'll find out more by herself.

Searching for the woman with the blue hair, Vivi, is fruitless, Law keeps the hatch which separates the sleeping quarters from the common room locked. Her search for answers is limited instead to her bedroom, Law's, his office, and the bunk room for the crewmates. The crewmates have nothing to interest her, just dirty clothes and old photos. But Law…

Fishing around his room while he's showering or bathing lends her notes about herself. They lay scattered about his desk, stained with coffee and torn on the edges.

 _Possible absence seizures_ , reads one.

 _Intense withdrawal symptoms_ , reads another.

One note describes her height(170 cm, 5ft and 7 inches) and weight(47 kg, 105 lbs), characteristics(violent, quick to anger, nervous ticks) and looks(red hair, brown eyes) down to the point, and underlined in dark blue ink is her weight. _Twenty pounds under weight_ is noted in the margin, the scrawl of Law's handwriting cramped and angular. _Refuses to eat, accused me of poisoning her._

Sneaking into his library gives her books she assumes Law reads for her, about her.

 _The Psychology of Complex Trauma_ , reads one.

 _Amnesia and It's Long Lasting Effects_ , reads another.

Law leaves careful notes in the margins and between the lines of his books, colorful tabs sticking out from the pages to mark what he deems important. Some notes are cynical musings about how the author has no actual practice, only theory, and some are drawn conclusions about herself, comparing her to the symptoms described.

She should be flattered, she supposes, but she only feels like she's been violated, dissected and left to dry on Law's operation table. There are some things she'd like to keep to herself.

Her most intriguing find during her routine snooping is inside a box shoved deep in Law's closet. Simple cardboard and labeled with her name in black pointed letters, it is filled with what she takes to be trash at first. A yellow seashell, a scrap of torn paper, a cracked log pose, and a pair of worn jeans. She dumps the entire box onto the floor, checking for something more substantial and severely disappointed when her search comes empty.

Trailing hesitant fingers over the log pose, she traces the prominent crack in the glass globe and follows its path until it separates into what seems to be a million hairline cracks. This was hers, once upon a time, and though now she would throw it away as it is, Law had deemed it important enough that he kept it. She places it back down and takes the jeans instead, eyeing it critically. It's too big for her now, she thinks immediately, and when she presses the waistband to her hips, she finds that she's completely correct. It's here that she realizes for the first time how thin she is. Her hipbones protrude from underneath her cotton shorts and she can count her ribs easily—her wrists stick thin and ankles near pitiful. The thought that she might be less than attractive like this upsets her, so she decides to put the jeans back into the box.

Out of sight, out of mind. She is fine. Just fine.

Quickly diverting her attention to the yellow seashell, she discovers that when pressed at the top, it emits a low static noise. She tries to speak into it, shakes it and even hits it against the floor, but the yellow shell does nothing but play back static. Sighing, she puts it down and picks up the scrap of paper. It's barely the size of her palm, and though the edges are torn, the scrap is pristine, unblemished, uncreased. Just as she's wondering what makes this little scrap so special, it _moves_. She blinks—once, twice, three times, but there's no mistaking it. The paper is moving in her hand.

 _Vivre Card_ , whispers something in the far corner of her mind, _it will lead you to whom it belongs to_.

"Vivre card," she parrots, tasting the words in her mouth, "it will lead me to whom it belongs to…"

The realization that someone is on the other side, that someone out there, that the person who this paper belongs to, _knows her_ , hits the air out of her lungs. At the same time—that her past was so close, and that Law was so insistent on hiding it, upsets her.

She doesn't get to mull over these realities for long however, as the sound of footsteps approaching the room has her scrambling to clean her mess. In goes the log pose and the shell with the jeans, to the box and that she shoves all the way back into the corner, making sure to lay Law's clothes back the way they were when she found them. Just in time, she notes with frazzled pride as the door creaks open. She whirls on her heels, and puts her best smile on her face. Law's stares back at her, eyes almost wide as they dart from her to the rest of the room. A pregnant pause fills the room and tugs at her waning smile, but she holds firm.

Law's question comes hesitantly and slowly, "What are you doing?"

She tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and peeks up at him through her lashes in what she hopes is a coy look. "Looking for you," she replies easily enough, relieved that there is no stutter or stammer in her answer. She hopes that he can't hear the way her heart is leaping in her chest.

Law continues to stare at her for much longer than necessary, and she desperately fights the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. She feels naked like this, stripped down and bare before his oddly keen eyes.

"Hm," he hums curiously after what seems like an eternity. "Is that so?"

She grapples for a moment; there's a test in his tone, but what he's looking for she doesn't know. Not quite. She sucks in a breath, stalling, before blurting, "I just, you know, missed you." Then, because those words sound so corny and the face he's making is strange for so many reasons, "Don't be flattered. Your attitude is shit. Your face is the only thing that makes up for it."

His lips twist, and she recognizes the familiar beginnings of a smirk on his stoic façade. "You think I'm handsome?"

 _Hook, line and sinker_.

She tosses her hair as she makes her way across the room towards him, finger curling around the vivre card—out of his sight, out of his mind.

"Of course," she says, "it's the only reason I stick around."

"Oh?" Law answers, "I though you were only here for the free food and labor."

She gives him a shy grin as she slides past him through the doorway. "That too," she admits.

That look flashes across his face again, the one from the day she'd touched his face—nostalgia, loneliness, and perhaps even longing—but it is gone as quick as it came, and Law is once again, carefully blank. He turns his face away, not looking at her. As if he can't bear to.

She feels all her bravado wilt.

"Nami," says her doctor, "you can't just—"

And it's here, watching his lips form the shape of name—that it hits her.

It looks—

—just like—

—the way…

…when…

His skin smells and tastes like antiseptic, the very antithesis of sensuality, but the warmth of it intoxicates her. Softly but ardently, she leaves a pathway of kisses on his warm, olive skin, on the corner of his mouth, the curve of his jaw, his chin and under his ear. Underneath the sterile taste, is the barest hint of him, a taste she cannot describe with words. He groans when she licks the salt of his sweat from his throat, and the noise he makes—sharp, strangled and very much pleased—sends a streaking shot of desire down between her legs. She rubs her thighs together, and when she reaches back up to kiss his lips, she feels him grin.

She doesn't like the thought of him laughing at her, even in good humor.

In retaliation to his smile, she bites his lip none too gently. He hisses, and makes to pull away, but Nami pulls him back by the collar of his half shed shirt and eases the sting with a stroke of her tongue. He falls easily back onto her, his weight and warmth returning and pressing her back into the hard edge of the wooden table. They part for air, lips pulling away loudly and breathing heavily.

"Can't get enough of me?" he taunts, disregarding her scolding bite from earlier.

From under his dark mussed hair, she can see amusement dance in his yellow eyes. He pushes back stray strands of her hair and tucks them behind her ear, before pressing a gentle, lingering peck to the very tip of her nose. The gesture is so tender that she can't help but blush.

The smile on his face only widens.

Scowling at his teasing, she pulls his face down to hers by his ears, and kisses the smile off his handsome face. Her touch trails down the tendons of his neck, over his tattooed chest and to the waist of his jeans, where she hooks her fingers into the belt loops and pulls his hips flush to hers.

He doesn't say much more after that, all too eager to slip his hands under her shirt and press himself closer into the soft cradle between her thighs.

And that's fine because he's—

…He is...

He's… what?

 _So much_ , Nami thinks to herself from somewhere deep in the far reach of her too dark mind, _nicer like this…_

"Nami?" Fingers brush tentatively against her cheek.

There's a stain on the floor.

Looks like coffee.

When was the last time she cleaned…?

The fingers trail down her shoulder and wrap around her elbow. Another appears in the edges of her vision and grasps her chin. She blinks blearily as her gaze is lifted from the stained floor.

"You slipped away again," Law says to her, so close that she can see her reflection in his pupils.

"I," she begins, then stops, unsure of what to say. "I was… just thinking," she finishes lamely.

She moves to step away, but her legs are shaking so hard that she almost falls face first into the floor. Thankfully, Law is there to catch her halfway, his fingers abnormally hot on her too chill skin. They curl with bruising strength around her biceps, anchoring her both to reality and to her feet.

"Nami?" he sounds incredulous—she can't look at him—she won't look at him. "What's wrong with you? What happened?"

"Nothing—" she tries to say, but her mouth is dry, her throat swollen. "I just… don't feel very well."

Then—partly because her face is beginning to burn with a blush that is ten times too hot and partly because the way Law is looking at her makes her uncomfortable—she flees to the haven of her room.

The door slams shut behind her, and only then does she let herself cry, mourning and missing and resenting something that can't even be called a memory.

A fantasy.

Yes.

That must be what it was.

A fantasy.

A rather cruel one.

‡

‡

 _Kiefer slaps the cup from her hands and it rolls twice against the table top after falling from her grip._

" _Don't drink that," he hisses with such ferocity that Nami flinches._

 _Where is her shy little Kiefer?_

 _The pool of black tea grows from the upended cup until it spills over the edge and onto the floor, where it collects into an ugly dark puddle._

" _I taught you better than that," she tells him as she wipes the tea from her fingers. "Who taught you how to be so rude?"_

 _Kiefer looks at her for a long time, hands limp at his sides. When he finally speaks, his voice is a murmur, quiet and timid._

" _You remember me?"_

 _Nami raises a brow as she reaches over to tuck an errant strand of his wild hair behind his ruined ear, her bruised fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw. She gives him a soft smile. "Of course I do."_

 _And when he begins to cry, for the life of her, Nami cannot fathom why._

" _I miss you," he tells her. "I miss you so much."_

 _Nami cannot understand._

" _I'm here," she tells him. "I never left."_

 _He only cries harder, presses his face into her palm closer._

" _I know," he says, so sad, so, so, sad… "I know."_

‡

‡

"Law?" she asks.

"Yes?" he answers.

She takes in a breath. Watches the sea pass her by in the porthole window. Lives. Dies. Exists.

"What day is it today?" she asks.

"Thursday," he answers.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"Don't worry," he answers.

"Where," she asks, "is my cat."

"Gone," he answers.

"And my Kiefer?" she asks.

A pause.

Breathing. Living. Dying. Existing. All so quiet.

The sea passes them by.

"Gone," he whispers, but Nami hears the tremor, sees the panic, feels the tension.

She looks at him, and he looks back.

"Gone?" she asks.

Law wavers under her stare, breathless, real—and for the first time since she woke beside him in her bed—human.

"Yes," he answers.

She watches the door long after he has left.

Law is lying to her.

When has that stopped being surprising?

‡

‡

" _Are we going to do this?" There's a tremble in Kiefer's voice. "For real?" he asks._

" _Yes," Nami says, "for real."_

 _She wipes the sweat off her forehead and looks at him. For the first time since arriving, he was showing hesitance. Kiefer meekly meets her gaze, the firelight from the corpse oven turning his one blue eye yellow._

" _I'm scared," he confesses, suddenly looking very much like the young boy he once was, the one who had smiled so softly up at her, all those years ago._

 _She closes her eyes, and sees—_

 _Fire, careful smiles, death. The smell of burning hair, the sizzle of human fat over flames the taste of blood on her—_

 _But she opens her eyes, and the image is gone._

" _What for?" she asks. She sets her shovel down beside the corpse pile. Some flies scatter from the sudden movement, but return to their spots soon after, one large blanket of eternally moving black. Nami stares at it, disgusted, before returning her gaze to Kiefer. "What are you scared of?"_

 _Kiefer turns his face to look at the fire blazing in the ovens, a smear of ash covering his left brow. "I don't want to die."_

" _We all die, Kiefer," Nami says without pause._

 _A sad truth, but a truth all the same._

" _I know," he says, an annoyed glance thrown her way, "but that doesn't mean I want to."_

 _She lets his words roll into the silence, and contemplates for one long moment. "Sometimes I do," she admits._

 _And she does. She really does._

 _Sometimes it hits her hard as she does the most mundane of tasks—hot and burning—the want to die. The want of closing her eyes, and never having to open them… Sometimes…she's just so tired. So tired…_

 _Kiefer flinches, startled. He asks, "Why?"_

 _And as Nami stares into the fire, feeling so far away she might as well be half way to the stars, she replies, rather bitterly, "What do I have left to live for?"_

 _Tentative silence. The blaze in the oven crackles and sizzles. Flies buzz. Shadows dance._

" _What about me?" Kiefer asks tentatively. "What about the doctor?"_

 _What about Law, she wants to ask, what about you?_

 _Who is Law to her other than a man who no longer is who he once was? Who is Kiefer to her other that a boy not yet man who cries and clings and wants so much to live for something that is only fiction?_

 _What are they to her, other than poor substitutes for something that only exists in memory?_

 _Nami picks up her shovel, and once more, the flies flit about. Her body feels heavy and her eyes strangely dry._

" _Sometimes, Kiefer," she amends, more for him than herself. "Only sometimes."_

‡

‡

She dreams that she is crying—that she is dying.

The silk sheets of her bed entangle her arms and legs, a web of luxury that refuses to let her go.

She screams, she wails, she begs to die.

The flicker of a single candle is her only anchor to sanity as she writhes in the shackles of her silken sheets. Feverish sweat slides down her temples, slicking her hair to her forehead and cheeks and making her skin sticky. Her breath is labored, uneven, her naked chest heaving with every ragged inhale.

A single palm presses to her cheek, brushing away strands of hair with large fingers. Instead of skin, she feels the soft down of fur lining the hand.

"No more," she begs the stranger. "Please take it out. Please no more."

"You'll hurt," comes the soft answer to her delirious pleas.

"I don't care!" She thrashes, struggling against the vice hold of her bed. The hand leaves her face to hold her shoulder down. "I don't want this!"

She repeats it, again and again. "I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it—"

The beast inside her twists, and she cries out in anguish as it tears her body more and more. It is a parasite, unwanted and unneeded, existing solely to spite her. It is vile, it is foul, like the innards of a rotting corpse left in the sun.

And she wants it gone.

A crying swordsman enters the room, washing the darkness with a brief burst of light.

"Please," she begs him, sobbing, her body curled around her middle as she tears her fingernails into the supple flesh of her flat stomach. "Take it out."

He does as she asks, pulling the blade of his virgin white sword from it's sheath. His hand tremors, just once, and then he cuts her.

A lion bursts forth from her belly, golden fur wet with her blood and smelling of filth as it claws it's way out into the world. It bares its teeth, human lips puled back and glistening with drool as it growls. It stretches, writhes, fighting to escape the hold of her body. With one great heave, the swordsman and the stranger tugs the beast from her belly.

The candle sputters.

She quiets.

Her skin grows cold.

The crying swordsman begins to sob, pressing his dirty hands to his face.

"I'm sorry," he says, gasping, "I didn't mean to—this wasn't supposed to happen."

Then, softly, "I wanted to fix you. I only wanted to make you better again."

Nami stands from the bed, tearing her silk shackles away from her body and grabs the nape of the whimpering beast. She drags it to the window and throws it out, watching with finality as it falls into the ocean, devoured by the raging black water.

There.

It is gone.

The crying swordsman holds her in his arms as the stranger puts her innards back into her body and sews the slit in her belly shut. She doesn't make a sound.

After, while she is lying quietly in her tangled sheets, the crying swordsman kisses her face until no more tears are left, and tells her he loves her.

Nami tells him that he is a liar.

He only cries harder, his vibrant yellow eyes dulled by his bloody tears.

And when she wakes, it is to the taste of her blood on her tongue. The space beside is so cool, so cold. Someone should be there, but when she reaches for comfort, nothing greets her. The darkness swallowing the room seems to breathe, and slowly, Nami feels the walls begin to close in on her.

With a gasp, she tears herself from the bed and throws open her bedroom door. Her heavy footsteps lead her to the hatch—the door to the world outside. She doesn't know why she knows this ship so well. She doesn't question it. Just does.

The ship is quiet, no one occupies the common room, no one haunts the kitchen. All is still, and she doesn't understand it until she reaches the hatch and pushes open the door. The ship rocks gently side to side, caressed by the love of the sea as it rests anchored beside an old dock. The crew must have gone into town. She hopes her captain will bring her back some meat. But that thought is strange, so she drops it. No use pondering the useless.

The world beyond her room and beyond the halls of his ship is crisp, but not clear. The chill of the night bites her skin through her nightdress and tousles her already tousled hair to the point of no returns, but she doesn't quite care. She looks to the moon.

The moon hangs hidden behind the smog of pollution. If she tries hard enough, she can picture the sight of it, full and silver as it hangs in the sky, it's blue-grey light dancing off the white sand shores of her hometown—but that image just seems so far away…

"Nami?"

The voice startles her, and she turns towards it, lamenting belatedly the fact the she left her room running without a weapon—not that she had one—but is wildly relieved to see a familiar face.

Law looks at her with something like concern. His arms slip from the railing where they'd been resting as he moves to close the distance, the wooden deck creaking under the weight of his steps.

"Another nightmare?" he asks, as though he knows her, as she knows him.

It hits her then.

Hard, cold, real.

"You know me."

He must mistake her tone of voice, because to the epiphany, he says simply, "Of course I do."

She stares at him, eyes following the line of his jaw and bridge of his nose, lines that she knows so well—so well that it should be wrong. He turns toward her, vibrant eyes questioning as he takes a step closer. His hand reaches up as though to caress her face, and for a moment, Nami thinks he might kiss her. It scares her, how much she wants him to.

But instead, he reaches over and wipes at her face with frayed cuff of his dirty sleeve.

Roughly, he tells her, "You're crying."

Nami touches her fingertips to her cheeks.

They come away wet.

She decides then and there, that she is tired of this habit of not knowing.

On the other side of her vivre card, exists someone who knows her, and if she is fortunate, will not hide the truth from her. And with that hope, she collects her things—three swords and one knife—and sets sail alone in the dead of night, just like she had done back when she was young.

* * *

 _ **Hope that satisfied some thirty minds for now! Thank you and enjoy! All reviews, favorites and follows are well loved~**_

 **Anopy—Yes, it has been so long! Even longer now, between this update and the last… Hopefully you aren't too upset, life happens as I'm sure you also know all too well. Oh-ho-ho, you've caught onto Kiefer and Doflamingo haven't you? Kiefer's a sneaky one… but he's neither good or bad… for now. ;) And Doffy? Well hmm, we see if we'll be seeing him later… who knows, with a lot of the older generation gone, he could be too… but that getting ahead of ourselves, I don't want to give too much away. All apart of the suspense, after all. Thanks so much for your review, I look forward to hearing your thoughts as I always do on this chapter and the next(releasing hopefully next month)!**

 **Chococatmarsh—You're English is fine! It's fantastic, don't be discouraged, you'll only get better and better with practice after all, so don't be shy about it. And I hope I update more too! I want to see the ending as much as you do, trust me. I just have a hard time fitting in the time to write. Anyway, thanks for your review!**

 **GUEST—Regarding your question about whether the marines know about the machines, the answer is yes. They helped put them there actually, and had a hand at making them, in case that wasn't obvious enough to catch(maybe I should go back and add that somewhere…). Law has unconventional ways, but in the end he's still a doctor, saving lives is his mission, so I think he's not being too villainous to Nami. I would hope, anyway. Thanks for your review!**

 **Peepachu—Kiefer is on Nami's side, I can say that definitely. But is he on ours? Is Nami even on ours? We don't know that just yet… Thanks for dropping a review, and btw, is that a game theory reference or…? Nevermind.**

 **sarge1130—Your reviews are always so insightful! You know exactly what's going on (oops, am I saying too much?) and catch onto the little things—like feeling and knowing only what Nami does. Yes, your analysis of Law is correct. He isn't really one for backhanded tactics unless he explicitly declares you a threat, and his role and passion as a doctor is well worn with him. Keeping things like this in mind is important to really understanding what's going on with Nami and the world around her. The people around her are the same, she's the only one who's different, even if she believes the opposite. Well, enough with my rambling, thank you for your review!**

 **Hachibukai—Yes, adulting is hard! Work, work, work, is all it's about. No time for me or my fangirling! I'm glad you like this Nami so much! I tried to make her darker, but with still that Nami feel. She's a little bit lovesick when it comes to Law, but aren't we all? Handsome beast he is… It's also great to know that I will hear from you as well! This story will not ever be abandoned (just updated really slowly!), and I hope to hear from you all along the journey! Thank you for leaving such happy and thoughtful reviews, they really make my day.**

 **Joy-girl—Ah, is it really that brilliant? You make me blush. You're theories are great, though I think you know why I can't comment on them more. And thanks you for your wonderful review, I'm happy you enjoyed my fic so much, I can only hope from now on that I won't disappoint. Law and Nami's dynamic was something I really went back and forth on, I wanted them to seem close, but at the same time, distanced, something akin to it feels to be suddenly thrust in the company of your childhood best friend. So many strong memories, but yet there's still that distance. I'd love to hear more of your thoughts on their dynamic! Is it too dramatic in your eyes? Too complacent? Too platonic or too romantic? Well, anyway, thanks again for your review!**

 _ **SELF NOTE;**_ **Forward! (•̀o•́)** ง


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